


Paint me in Trust

by Pawprinter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby Griffin Being an Asshole, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Background Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gryffindor Bellamy Blake, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Minor John Murphy/Raven Reyes, Minor Monty Green/Harper McIntyre, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slytherin Clarke Griffin, Smut, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), no knowledge of harry potter is needed!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2020-06-28 05:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 326,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter
Summary: Clarkeis on the run. It's 1997 in Britain, during the height of the Second Wizarding War. Voldemort is wreaking havoc in the Wizarding World, fear is weighing heavily on everyone, and anyone who doesn’t side with the Dark Lord is in danger.Clarke was expected to side with him. She’s from a pureblood family that has decades tangled with the Dark Arts, after all. But, she didn’t.So, she ran.Somehow, she finds her way to a safe house where she meets with other wizards and witches on the run.* * *AllBellamywanted to do was keep his sister safe. Instead of saving her, he’s stuck in a safe house withher. She’s a Slytherin and the daughter of a Death Eater. He doesn’t trust Clarke; why should he?Now, he’s stuck with her as they roam around the country, looking for places to stay safe and stay hidden. He quickly realizes that things could be worse. And… maybe Clarke isn’t as bad as he thought.





	1. Art by nikitajobson

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is based off lyrics from the song titled "Human" by dodie. Please note, the meaning of this song does not correspond to the meaning/message of this fic -- I simply used the lyrics because I thought they were beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is written for the [Bellarke Big Bang](https://bellarkebigbang.tumblr.com/) hosted on Tumblr. The art contained in this fic is made by the absolutely wonderful [nikitajobson](https://nikitajobson.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Please note, fic content begins in "chapter 2"


	2. Chapter 1: A Warm Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A few notes before we get started:**
> 
> This fic is set between October 1997 and May 1998. It follows some of the delinquents as they travel through Britain to try to stay hidden from Death Eaters and snatchers. **No knowledge is needed of Harry Potter** \- just know that it has magic, and the teenagers are fighting against some guy that believes in some really messed up things. This fic follows the canon events set in Harry Potter as much as possible, but this is not the story of Harry, Hermione or Ron.
> 
> I hope this makes sense!
> 
> Clarke and Bellamy will obviously be the main characters. Clarke is 18 throughout this fic (born in October 1979) and Bellamy is 19 throughout this fic (born September 1978). Clarke would be in the same year that Harry/Ron/Hermione were in, while Bellamy would be in the year above that. I usually like to explain ages at the start of the fic so I can easily reference them (and so can you!).
> 
> Abby is Clarke's mother in this fic, but she isn't the same Abby from the show. The Abby in this fic is a Death Eater and has ties to Dark Arts, and is often portrayed as a villain. This doesn't reflect my thoughts about (canon) Abby AT ALL. I just needed Clarke's mother (or father) to have a tie to Voldemort, regardless of the character in the show. I hope this makes sense. If you're a huge fan of Abby, I'd recommend you don't read this fic.
> 
>  **Warning:** How I usually work my fics is I put little warnings in the notes for each chapter. The general warnings for this fic include canon-typical violence (I try to keep the level of violence to the level on The 100), discussion of prejudice (these are themes in Harry Potter, and they play a big part in this fic), coarse language, and sexual content. If there are ever any additional warnings, I will put them at the start of each chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  **EDIT:** this chapter used to be found under "chapter 1" (below the art for this fic). This has been separated into its own chapter to be more mobile friendly. Thank you!

**_CLARKE_ **

_October 8, 1997_

* * *

Clarke pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face, ensuring every piece of her hair was hidden under it. While the streets were dark and empty, she couldn’t be sure what had eyes around her.

Spies were everywhere, waiting for someone worth anything to pop up. Snatchers, Death Eaters, and nameless followers of He Who Must Not Be Named covered every inch of England, looking for people like her – looking for people that were _worse_ than her.

For what felt like the twentieth time, she reached up and felt for her wand up her sleeve. If she wasn’t walking through a muggle area, she would have had it out and clutched in her hand. Even now, she was reciting every spell that she knew in her mind, as well as the corresponding wand movements.

_Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay vigilant._

Her eyes swept over the small houses along the street. Most looked uninhabited in the middle of the night, but some still had the soft glow of elektricity, illuminating each room.

She would be the first to admit, she wasn’t well aware of the muggle world. She grew up in a pure-blood home. They never had any reason to leave the Wizarding World, and she never had the want. _Until she got to Hogwarts._

She tried to learn about muggles there, but even she could see the courses were outdated. A witch or wizard would be a fool to think muggles still rode on horses and read by the candlelight.

Even while the tiny neighbourhood was sleeping, she could see how wrong they were. Metal horses were left outside houses, the only light sources were tall candles standing above the streets (which she knew operated from elektricity), and she could see moving pictures through the windows of some homes.

She felt entirely out of her depth. She didn’t know the first thing about modern muggles. Would she be able to survive in a world so different than the one she grew up in?

 _Yes._ She had to. It wasn’t a question of _if_ she could survive; she _had to._ This was her only option left and, frankly, it was a hell of a lot better than where she spent the last month.

Clarke’s eyes caught sight of the number at the end of the street. _101._ The house it belonged to looked small and mundane, which was perfect for her situation.

The outside wasn’t anything spectacular. The grass outside was trimmed, the paint along the house a light shade of brown, and the curtains were drawn across the windows. Not a single ray of light poked through the cracks of the curtains, and not a single sound came from the house.

 _Magic._ She could tell. As she stepped closer to the house, it was like she passed through an invisible wall. As she walked closer, the house came alive.

The lights were on inside; the rays bursting out from between the slits of the curtains. She could hear laughter every few seconds from just beyond the door.

It made her smile and a dull ache grew in her chest. She hadn’t heard laughter in so long. She almost forgot what it sounded like. The last time she truly heard laughter like this – unguarded and full of life – was back in Hogwarts, right before the death of the Headmaster.

She tried to push that memory to the side. She focused on the warm feeling in her chest from hearing souls so full of life and hope.

The lack of laughter in her life was to be expected, considering it was the middle of a war. She’d been on the run for the last five weeks; hiding in pubs and sleeping in abandoned shops. She was lucky that so many places had been abandoned during the war on Diagon Alley; it made for easy hiding.

With each step, she grew more and more nervous. _This wasn’t her place. She didn’t belong here._

McGonagall assured her that she told the Order member in charge of the safe house that she was coming, but she had the sinking sense that they wouldn’t accept her. Her blonde hair was hard to mistake in the Wizarding World – it always had been. With the war currently raging across the country, she knew nobody would take her for the benefit of the doubt.

Before, people wouldn’t think twice of her, assuming she just resembled one of the more well-known wizarding families. Now, nobody had that luxury. If they assumed wrong or if they never placed the pieces together, they were risking their lives. People died for smaller mistakes.

She knew she would be recognized. She just hoped McGonagall told them who she was beforehand and they were already willing to accept her. _She didn’t have anywhere else to go_. She gave up her most recent hiding spot to travel to the Order safe house.

_This was her last chance._

Clarke let her wand slide down her sleeve so the tip settled in the palm of her hand. She knew she really should’ve been hiding her wand; if they seen her standing at their doorstep with a weapon, she would be as good as dead.

But she was terrified and it was ingrained in her to protect herself. After years of surviving only from her wit and by being two steps ahead of everyone else, she wasn’t willing to slack off now. Out of pure habit, her eyes scanned her surroundings for good points of escape.

Her breathing was ragged as she stood at the landing of the door. Her thumb was tapping impatiently against the side of her leg, moving in time to her racing heart.

_Do it. Just knock._

Her hand twitched, but she pulled it back. Following through with this plan – knocking at the door – would seal her fate. This singular moment felt like a turning point in her life.

_This was either going to be her salvation or her damnation._

Fuck.

She had half a mind to turn around and never come back, but she snuffed that thought out quickly. McGonagall promised her that she’d find safety here. _A warm bed, fresh food, a safety net of protection spells around her, people around her to keep her loneliness at bay._

The possibility of those things – things she desperately wanted – was enough to overcome her sense of fear in that moment. Without another moment of hesitation, her hand came up and her knuckles rapped against the door swiftly.

Her knock on the door caused the laughter inside to die. Instantly, she felt a bubble of regret forming in her stomach. The demons in her mind whispered to her; _mistake, mistake, mistake._

She grit her teeth. _Please don’t kill me. Please don’t turn me away._

She held her breath as she waited for the Order member to answer the door. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long.

The next few moments happened so fast that it made her mind spin.

The door was cracked open enough for her to slip through. The front of her robe was gripped by a strong hand and she was yanked inside the house. She didn’t go willingly; all of her alarms were ringing.

_Danger._

The way she survived the last few years of her life was _avoiding_ situations like this one. _Never give someone the upper hand, never let your guard down, never trust someone enough to know more than the façade you built._

All of that survival was for naught. She feared for her life as she was shoved into the house. Before she could scream, another hand was pressed over her lips and her back was shoved roughly against the wall.

Somehow, her wand came loose from her sleeve and was rolled across the floor, far away from her. Her two hands gripped the one hand that covered her mouth, pulling desperately at it. Her heart was racing and her head spun.

She locked eyes with a woman who couldn’t be much older than her. Her eyes were full of fury and determination, and Clarke knew she made a mistake coming here. _They were going to kill her. They recognized her. This was the end._

On pure instinct, Clarke thrashed against the woman’s grasp, trying to break free. Her wand was completely out of sight now, and her mind was buzzing with ways to survive. She trashed again.

“Enough,” the woman ordered, her voice controlled and short. “Don’t move, or I swear to Merlin, I’ll hex you.”

Just as she was about to bite down on the hand smothering her mouth and nose, a second voice spoke up, this one male. “Let her breathe, Reyes.”

“Shove off,” she snapped, her head turning slightly to address the person behind her. “You know who this is, right? No way in hell am I letting her go.”

Clarke’s heart fell to her stomach with Reyes’ words. _She knew who she was._ Fuck.

With this new information, she grew even more agitated. If Reyes knew who she was, then she was in more danger than she expected. It was clear from her welcome that McGonagall never told the safe house that she was coming.

Her lungs were burning now. A wave of panic engulfed her, threatening to make her sick. _She needed to get out._ Run.

She needed to run.

“You don’t know for sure who this is,” the second voice insisted. “Just let her go so we can all talk like civilized wizards and witches.” Reyes didn’t move. “Raven.” The male snapped, his voice growing sharper. “ _Now_.”

Reyes’ eyes narrowed on hers. Clarke desperately clung to her wrist and kept her face emotionless, refusing to let her see how panicked she truly was in that moment. After a beat of silence, she let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” Her fingers flexed, grasping her shoulder a tad tighter. “You scream and you’ll regret it.”

 _Then, she could breathe freely again._ Reyes’ hand moved from her mouth and she sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t give them the satisfaction in watching her gasp for breath. Instead, she just narrowed her eyes and she tried to calm her racing heart.

They locked eyes for a brief moment. Clarke recognized the woman whose hand was gripping her robes right away as Raven Reyes. She was a year older than her and a Ravenclaw. She was a damn good Quidditch player; one that always gave her team troubles. She remembered how loud she laughed on the field and how hard she played. One thing was for sure; she was always fair and she always gave it her all. Even though they never saw eye to eye, she respected her.

The woman in front of her was different – a shell of the girl on the field. Her face was hardened and her eyes suspicious. No longer was she laughing; her lips were pressed tightly together and her jaw locked.

It shouldn’t have shocked or worried Clarke as much as it did. The two girls were never close – not at all – but it was another reminder that the war was sucking life from everything.

Another man, the one who pulled Raven away from Clarke stepped forward, and she recognized him instantly.

_Bellamy Blake._

Just like Reyes, she knew him from the Quidditch pitch. As the Captain of Slytherin’s sworn enemies on the Quidditch pitch, she knew him _very_ well. Blake was condescending, cocky, a right pain in her arse, and a Gryffindor.

 _Fuck._ This wasn’t good. Reyes, she could handle. At least they didn’t know each other well. _But Blake?_ They traded insults for _years._ Between their house rivalry, being on opposite teams for Quidditch, and having groups of friends that butted heads all of the time, saying they hated each other was putting it lightly.

He still didn’t recognize her – not yet, at least. Her striking blonde hair was hiding under her hood, and she had managed to transfigure her nose to be more pointed, and her cheekbones sharper to help hide her identity.

“She’s a Slytherin,” Reyes said, her voice heated. As if to prove her point, she gestured down to where her snake pendant rested against the exterior of her black robes. “You recognize her?”

There wasn’t a question in Clarke’s mind – Reyes knew who she was, even with all the transfiguration.

Blake’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion and Clarke felt her heart drop to her stomach. He was looking at her like she was a monster, like she was an outsider.

 _You are an outsider,_ she reminded herself. The snake pendant was a dead giveaway of that. Her appearing in the middle of a night at their safe house was a dead giveaway of that.

As he walked towards her, Reyes took a step to the side, but still kept a tight hold on the front of her robes. He stopped a foot in front of her, his eyes narrowed and his jaw locked.

She let out a shaky breath. Never before in her life had she been scared of her previous peers – not even Blake, who’d been her enemy on the Quidditch field for years. But now, he held her fate in her hands.

 _She really regretted not getting on his good side back at school._ If only she knew that this was where they would be – him deciding if she’d get to stay at the safe house, away from the Snatchers and Death Eaters looking for her.

_Screw her and her lack of skills in divination._

Blake reached forward and pulled Clarke’s hood off in one swift motion, letting her blonde hair free. His face was unreadable as she examined her. Even though her nose and cheekbones were still not her own, she knew her blonde hair was unmistakable.

“Just like I thought,” Raven said, her voice tight.

Without turning away from her, Blake spoke said, “Go get him from the back.”

_Whoever ‘him’ was, Clarke wasn’t too sure if she wanted to know._

“Blake,” she said, her voice low and even. She couldn’t remember the last time she addressed him without an insult to boot.

He didn’t waste anytime in questioning her. “How did you find us?” he asked, his voice closer to a growl. “How’d you know where we were?”

“Nice to see you again, too,” she said, her voice dipping into sarcasm.

He lifted his hand, and, for the first time, she realized what he was holding. _Her wand._ Her heart skipped a beat. “What were you planning on doing with this?”

“Not sweep your floors, I’ll tell you that much,” she bit back, her tone sharper than before. The fear that came from seeing him holding her wand made her ease back into old habits of insults and bickering with him. “Can you give it back?”

“Afraid not,” he said. He didn’t sound apologetic, and Clarke understood. She hated it, but she understood. These were dark times – nobody could be trusted – especially not strangers. “Why was your wand drawn?”

“The same reason both you and Reyes have yours drawn right now.” Her eyes flicked down to his own wand sitting tightly in his grasp. “We’re in the middle of a war. I didn’t know who was going to be there or if they’d be friendly.” An uneasy smile crossed her face. “Clearly, I was right to have my wand out, huh?”

“You’re the one who came to us,” he reminded her. He tried again. “How’d you find us?”

“I was told your location,” she said. Clarke’s patience was thinning by the second. She was exhausted – both from running and hiding, and from the mess of the world she lived in. She hated playing these games; trying to figure out the true intentions of everyone, trying to stay one step ahead of others, keeping secrets. It was something she’d done her whole life, and she was tired – _so tired._ “I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

“But you’re here,” Raven said, her voice sharp. “We know who you are, Griffin, and we aren’t stupid. You enough trouble. You-”

“Bellamy, Raven, back away from our guest.”

Clarke craned her neck to look at who the new voice belonged to. He had greying hair and a kind face. She instantly remembered him from Hogwarts; she’d seen him in and out of the castle plenty of times over the years, mainly from when he was on guard duty her fifth year.

Instantly, Reyes stepped away from her, but Bellamy remained. Clarke didn’t dare try to move. She eyed all three of the individuals around her with suspicion.

_Where the hell did McGonagall send her?_

Blake still held her wand tightly, as if she would ever attempt to physically grab it from him. His own wand was drawn and pointed at the floor – a stark reminder that they were seconds away from hell breaking loose.

Reyes stood beside the older man, her face as cold as stone. Her expression gave nothing away, and Clarke hated it. One thing she prided herself on was _always_ being able to read others, but she was struggling with her. Of fucking course she’d struggle here, when it mattered most.

Most surprising was the older man. His eyes shifted to Blake when he didn’t step away. “Bellamy, leave her be.”

His eyes left her face for the first time. She caught a brief flicker of surprise in his expression, but he hid it well. “Sir?”

“You heard me,” he clarified, his lips twitching the slightest bit. “Away.”

With that, Blake took a few steps away from Clarke. For the first time since entering the safe house, it felt like she could breathe. She sucked in a deep breath and let her shoulders slouch forward the slightest bit.

The man breezed past the two former Hogwarts students, closing the distance between them. When he came to a stop, he was mere feet away from Clarke. His eyes were curious and his smile kind, like they were long lost friends. If she didn’t know any better, she might’ve wondered if they knew each other already.

“Clarke, right?”

In the world she lived in, everything was a dangerous game. Even something as simple as giving a name was complicated. The smallest advantage she gave to others meant that _she_ lost that advantage.

And her name, dammit, she knew it would cause issues. The two Hogwarts students already knew who she was from her hair and attitude, but _speaking_ her name would give them their conformation. She’d confirm she was a monster, and she’d be pushed back onto the streets.

When she stayed silent, the man continued speaking. “I’m Marcus Kane. I run this safe house. I got a message saying a student was coming sometime this week. I’m assuming that’s you?”

Clarke eyed him suspiciously, suddenly feeling nervous by how open he was. Nobody was this open – not anymore. He must have an ulterior motive. _That was something she was used to._

“Who sent you the message?”

“Minerva,” he said without a moment of hesitation. “She told me it was a former student of hers, and I just assumed she meant one of her charges, not one of Snape’s.” His eyes twinkled. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

A sense of relief filled Clarke in that moment. This man – Kane – clearly knew who she was, by both name and house, and he didn’t care. His eyes were kind and his smile welcoming. For a brief moment, she felt okay.

Then, Blake opened his mouth.

“You were expecting someone and you didn’t tell us?” he said, his tone giving away how offended he was.

Kane didn’t turn away from Clarke to address the older Gryffindor. “You didn’t need to know.”

He blew out a hot breath. “Clearly we did.”

“Bellamy,” he said, finally turning to face him. “I didn’t tell you because you didn’t need to know. Okay? You’re safe here – that’s all the matters. You don’t need to worry about-”

“Like hell I do,” he snapped. Clarke pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. _What an ass._ She wasn’t surprised. Bellamy Blake had always been an ass – ever since she was a first-year student.

Kane must’ve seen how unimpressed Clarke was. He nodded at Blake. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Bu-”

Kane lifted his eyebrows and locked his jaw. “Later,” he insisted. “Take over kitchen duty for me. Both of you.”

Blake didn’t seem to like that. He crossed his arms and furrowed his eyebrows. “ _What?_ No. No way in hell am I leaving the likes of her out here.”

Clarke scoffed. “Likes of her,” she echoed. “I’m unarmed,” she reminded him, her eyes drifting to the wand he clutched in his hands. He shifted backwards a step and moved his hand behind his body, like keeping it out of her sight would make her forget about his possession. “I’m flattered, Blake. You’re scared of me, even when I don’t have my wand.”

“I’m not scared, but I’m not stupid,” he shot back.

Kane eyed the two of them. “I’m assuming you three know each other from Hogwarts then?”

“Unfortunately,” Clarke bit out. She knew she should’ve been treading lightly; after all, it was a miracle she hadn’t been thrown out of the safe house already, but she couldn’t help herself. The memories of all the years spent bickering and fighting came to mind easily.

“Yeah, unfortunately for _me_ ,” Blake clarified, his lip curling in disgust.

She narrowed her eyes in his direction before providing some context for Kane. “We were part of rival Quidditch teams. Slytherin and Gryffindor don’t exactly get along.”

“Sure,” he drawled, “that was the only reason I hate you.” His eyes flicked to Kane. “This isn’t a good idea. I don’t agree with this.”

“Fortunately, you don’t get to make these decisions here. Kitchen duty, Bellamy.” His gaze dropped to his arm. “And give her back her wand, for Merlin’s sake.”

 _That_ seemed to be a breaking point for Blake. He stood taller and squared his shoulders. “You’re shitting me.”

“I assure you, I’m not _shitting_ you, Bellamy,” Kane said, his voice growing more and more strained. “Give Clarke back her wand and continue dinner prep in the kitchens. _Now._ ”

“She’s a Slytherin,” Blake continued, seemingly oblivious to Kane’s thinning patience. “She shouldn’t _be_ here, never mind have a wand.”

“Charming as always,” Clarke muttered, crossing her arms.

Reyes rolled her eyes. “Bellamy, just give the damn wand back and let’s go.”

His gaze shifted to her. “You too?”

Kane cleared his throat. “Now, Bellamy. We’ll discuss this later.” Reyes seemingly didn’t trust Blake enough to follow through with Kane’s demand. She reached forward to take Clarke’s wand from his grasp, and passed it over to Kane’s waiting hand. “Thank you, Raven.”

She gave a small nod in acknowledgement before gripping Blake’s hand and marching both of them out of the foyer.

 _Hm._ Clarke never knew the Ravenclaw chaser and Gryffindor chaser were close. Maybe that happened in the last few months, after they graduated. It very well could’ve happened before, too, and Clarke wouldn’t have known – she didn’t pay too much attention to gossip, especially not when it involved the year above her.

Kane turned his attention back to Clarke. “I’m sorry for those two.”

She smiled thinly. “I’m used to it.”

Of course. Out of all the students at Hogwarts, the safe house she’d find herself at would include Bellamy freaking Blake. Ever since she joined the Quidditch team in her third year, he’d been the biggest pain in her ass. He loved making her life hell.

(Then again, she loved making his life hell too.)

“We have a rule around here.” Kane lifted up her wand. “Limit the amount of magic used. All chores should be done by hand around here, okay?” Clarke nodded her head. She could do chores, especially if it gave her a safe place to stay. That was worlds easier than not knowing if she’d make it to the next day. “Absolutely no magic is to be used on the others in the house. That one is unnegotiable. If I see or hear of you using a spell – a charm, a hex, _whatever_ – on any of the others living here, there will be consequences.”

Clarke shifted uneasily under his gaze. She knew she’d have to fight her first impulse to grab her wand and curse Blake into the next week whenever they traded insults. She’d just have to be a little more creative when it came to him. Fine by her.

This rule also put her at ease. If she couldn’t hex Blake, he couldn’t hex her. Maybe she wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open around here.

“Carry your wand with you wherever you go.” With that, Kane passed the wand to her. “While this isn’t a rule, I’d strongly caution going against this suggestion. This house is a safe house, yes, but that doesn’t mean it will _always_ be safe. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named’s followers are always looking for people like us. We have protections put in place, but we shouldn’t let that lure us into a false sense of safety. We’re at war.”

She smiled grimly. She knew that for a fact. “Constant vigilance,” she echoed. “Got it.”

His gaze was intense and unnerving. He was looking at her like… _like he cared._

That was a new one.

“I’m sorry,” Kane said. It shocked Clarke to hear the sincerity in his voice, almost as much as it shocked her to see the open expression. “This must be overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming is one way to put it,” she said, grimacing while thinking of Blake and Reyes. While she spoke, she slipped her wand back into her pocket.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy. It was a fresh reminder that she didn’t belong here, not really. She didn’t belong anywhere, actually.

He interrupted her thoughts. “Do you have a last name, Clarke?”

 _A name._ It was something so simple, yet it carried so much weight. Something as simple as a word carried years of prejudice and stereotypes and history – not just to her, but to everyone who heard it.

It was something she wasn’t exactly proud of. _Griffin._ It was like poison to her.

Her mouth was dry when she spoke. “Griffin.” She locked eyes with him, not allowing herself to show her unease. “My name is Clarke Griffin.”

He smiled kindly. “Nice to meet you, Clarke.”

 _Strange._ For the first time in her life, someone didn’t cringe or take a step back when she spoke her name. Usually, people ran as far away as possible when they heard which family she belonged to – just like people did with the Malfoys and the Parkinsons.

“I’ve been expecting you, ever since Minerva sent me word. You found your way here alright?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” She smirked, forcing herself to look relaxed. “You need a better welcoming committee.”

Kane blew out a long breath of air. “Bellamy is… going through a rough time right now.” _Aren’t we all?_ Clarke wanted to scream it out loud. They were all struggling. “He’ll have to tell you about it on his own terms though, if he wants to.”

“Blake won’t have to worry about that,” she promised Kane. “I don’t plan on getting cozy. I’m just here until things calm down out there, and then I’ll be gone.”

He must not have expected that answer. His eyebrows flew up and he pursed his lips.

 _It was the truth though._ She didn’t _want_ to get cozy with Blake either. She was happy enough with being an outsider; as long as she had a safe place to stay, she didn’t care too much.

There was a beat of silence before he answered. “Well, you’ll always be welcomed here. It isn’t safe out there – not for anyone, but especially not those that are on the run.”

A red flag went up in her mind. He was fishing for something, she could sense it. While he didn’t come straight out and ask her why she was here, she knew he was digging for it.

Her gaze turned cold. “I can handle myself, Kane. I’ve been doing it for years.” The corners of her lips turned up in a chilly smile. “No need to worry about me.”

“You don’t need to tell me your past, Ms. Griffin,” Kane said. He was more perceptive than Clarke gave him credit for. He seemed to know _exactly_ what she was doing – avoiding a question he never even asked. “What you did before this moment is not my business. If you aren’t comfortable sharing details about the journey you took to get yourself here, you don’t need to.”

 _The journey you took._ His words didn’t make light of the situation, and rightly so. Her past was dark and bumpy; it was filled with lies, and deceit, and betrayal, and poison. She was born on the opposite side of the war – it had been hell to make her way to where she was in that moment.

Kane gestured towards the staircase a few feet away. “Let’s go meet the others.” She trailed after him, her fingers brushing over the base of her wand hesitantly. “There are six of us in this safe house in total, including you and me. Bellamy and Raven are the oldest students – they’re both a year above you, correct?” She nodded. “There’s also Monty and Harper, two students from your year. You know them?”

She did. They were Hufflepuffs, meaning she didn’t know them too well. Slytherin always had their classes with Gryffindor.

“Sure.”

Kane stopped mid-way up the stairs to turn to her. “We’re a family here, Clarke. Have you been to a safe house before?”

“No.” She’d been on the run alone for the last month.

He nodded. “Well, we all care for each other here. We’re in this together – it’ll be important to remember that. While some of us might clash or butt heads, we’re all on the same side of the war. Whatever happens while you’re here, you have to remember that this is a bubble. Out there, your worst enemy isn’t going to be someone who wants to beat you at Gobstones – they’re going to want to kill you.”

Even though he didn’t mention a name, she knew he was talking about her and Blake. _Get along,_ he seemed to say. _He isn’t your true enemy._

It was true, of course, but old habits died hard.

“While you’re here, we’re a team. We split chores. We cook for each other. We help each other when needed. You’re not just hiding out here – you’re _living_ here.” A horrible feeling was growing inside of her. She almost felt guilty about the dread she was feeling – after all, this was a paradise compared to what she endured over the last years.

It was foreign, though, knowing she’d be living with these people like they were all friends or family. It reminded her of Hogwarts and her housemates, but, even then, it was different. There was a clear divide in her house, which caused more trouble than she’d like to think of.

“Got it,” she forced herself to say when she realized Kane was waiting for an answer. “Makes sense.”

He smiled. “Good. I know it might take some time to get used to, and I’m willing to give that time, but you’ll be feeling like you’re home in no time.”

 _Home._ She hoped this place didn’t feel like home to her. Home was full of death and betrayal and vile creatures. Her whole life, _home_ was a sour word, and it’d only gotten worse recently.

 _Hogwarts will always be your home._ No. That wasn’t true. Hogwarts _wasn’t_ her home – it was a million times brighter.

She pushed those thoughts out of her head for the sake of Kane.

“I’ll start assigning you to chores at the end of the week, unless you’re really struggling to adjust to life here. If that’s the case, let me know, and we can work something out.” She nodded. “Okay. Breakfast is held every morning and we try to eat together. You lot usually manage to do it, but I have to run off to work on most days.”

Her eyes widened. _He worked?_ “Oh. Uh. Okay.”

He smirked at her surprise. “I’m sure I won’t be able to for much longer, but, for now, I’m safe at the ministry.”

She couldn’t suppress a laugh at that. Here he was, running a safe house for people on the run from Voldemort – most of which had their faces plastered across wanted signs. Every day, he’d face those same people and not say a word about the fact he was harboring them. It was hilarious.

“Badass,” she complimented. He smirked.

“Lunch is almost always up to you guys. Dinner is an important one though – that’s the time where we all sit together and eat. Every day. Same time. Same place.” His smile softened. “Other than those meals, there isn’t too much structured time, apart from Friday.” Before she could even ask, he was continuing. “Fridays, we train.”

She choked on the air in her lungs. “We _what?_ ”

“Train.” _What the hell did that mean?_ “We’re at war, Clarke. I want you guys to keep your skills sharp, even though you might not be practicing magic every day like you did back at Hogwarts. It’s more important now than ever. You never know when you’ll need to fight for your life.”

“You keep hinting at this place not being safe,” she pointed out, her eyebrows raised. “Are you expecting Death Eaters to come knocking on your door?”

“More like blow that door down,” he responded, his face turning sour. “It’s like I said – this won’t always be a safe place. Order members are being tracked down and killed. Safe houses are being busted into more and more often.” The smile from before had completely melted from his features. Her own heart had frozen in her chest. What he was talking about was worse than a nightmare. “We both know where this is going – how the war will end.”

 _She didn’t._ She truly didn’t know where the war was leading, or how this world would break free of the darkness. Kane seemed to think them training for a fight with a few Death Eaters seemed to be the solution.

“Enough of that,” he dismissed. “Training is good. Keeps you lot out of trouble and in-tune to who you are. Plus, you can never be too prepared at times like this.”

“Alright.” She didn’t want to argue with him. She wasn’t even sure what to say.

With that, Kane turned and continued their march up the stairs. “I’ll show you to your room, then I better get back to Bellamy and Raven. Last time they cooked alone, we nearly had to vacate the safe house.” His smile was back, but she could tell it wasn’t as genuine as before. “It was a minor disaster.”

Anything to do with Bellamy Blake seemed to be a minor disaster, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

 _Fuck._ While Kane spoke families and training, she never stopped to think about _who_ she’d be doing all of that with. Monty and Harper weren’t an issue from what she could remember, but Reyes and Blake were a different story.

_Especially Blake._

She’d never consider him family – not until hell froze over. He was an arrogant prat and a grade A asshole. Back at school, every time she would see him, they’d trade insults. On the Quidditch pitch, they’d sneer at each other. He was always judgemental too – judgemental over the company she kept, about the green on her robes, about who her mother was.

He’d never be a friend, never mind family.

They turned the corner once they reached the top of the stairs. He pointed to the first room on the right. “This is where you’ll be staying. Raven is your roommate.”

 _And then there was Reyes._ While she was worlds better than Blake, they’d been rivals on the Quidditch pitch as well. At least with her, she could see them becoming friends.

“Settle in. The bathroom is down he hall and is communal, but feel free to shower if you want. Minerva told me you haven’t had a safe place to stay in a very long time.”

Curious, she questioned him. “What else did she tell you about me?”

Kane crossed his arms and regarded her with an unreadable expression. “Not much. She told me that she had another student for me to take in – one that hadn’t been safe in a long time. This particular student was to be of age. She told me your name, and she told me that you were different than the other students I am hiding.”

For an inexplicable reason, this made Clarke feel uneasy. “Different how?”

“The other four don’t necessarily have people _actively_ looking for them,” he said slowly, as if he was examining every word he spoke. “Minerva told me that you did – that there are people out there looking _specifically_ for you. The others are in danger, yes, but they’re part of the masses; muggleborns, blood traitors, the like. You, on the other hand – you have a specific target on you.”

His words caused fear to creep up her spine. What he was saying was true, but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. For a moment, she forgot that she was being hunted. She forgot that her mother had posters of her face _everywhere._ She forgot that the reward for her being found and brought back alive was double anything that was set for muggleborns or blood traitors.

“People don’t particularly enjoy it when one of their own defects,” Clarke pointed out, her voice stiff.

Kane lifted an eyebrow. “One of their own, hey? That explains why you’ve been on the run for months – why you turned to the Order to get you out – why you’re here now.”

Her heart was in her throat and her mouth was dry. Hearing the horrors of her past summed up so nicely made her feel sick.

“Fancy words earlier, about me not needing to come clean about my past,” she pointed out, her tone icy. “Seems like you already know who I am.”

Kane’s expression was unreadable. His eyes settled on her and the intensity behind them made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“We aren’t our families and we aren’t where we come from,” he promised her. “I only know that – where you come from – but that doesn’t mean I know who you are, Clarke. You’re just like the rest of us here; you’re running from something you shouldn’t need to at your age.” His eyes flicked to the snake pendant on her neck. “The reason you’re here is because you’re not like your family – that much I know. You stuck to what you believe in, even if that made your life difficult.”

“You don’t know me,” she told him.

The corners of his lips quirked up into a smile. “I know.” He gestured to the empty bed on the right side of the room. “Make yourself at home. Dinner is in twenty.”

He left before she could compose herself. She stood in the door way for a handful of minutes after he’d left her, her heart still aching, and her mind still circling. The weight of the world felt like it was resting on her shoulders.

He didn’t know who she was, even if he pretended he did. Whatever McGonagall told him about her must’ve made him feel like he knew who she was.

Part of what he said was true. There were people out there looking specifically for her.

What she said was also true. _She used to be one of them._ When she made her choice and abandoned that way of life, they refused to accept it.

He was wrong about her being like the rest of the students in the safe house though. They lived different lives. They didn’t see the horrors of the war like she did. They grew up knowing which side of the war they belonged. They were a family – and that was something she never would be part of.

 _She was okay with that._ Family meant betrayal. Family meant manipulation.

Clarke believed what she told Kane earlier. She was here for a limited time. Once those looking for her forgot about her, fewer eyes would be searching for her. Once that happened, it would be safe for her to get back out there and survive on her own.

She blew out a sigh and made her way into the room she would be sharing with Reyes.

That was one good thing. At least this was all temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 2: An Unwelcome Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely feedback on chapter 1. I'm so blown away by all the love and encouragement I've received. It's exactly what I needed. A quick fact about me: I've been involved with the Harry Potter fandom through fanfic since 2010, but this is the fandom I struggle the most with writing fanfic. So, truly, I appreciate all the encouragements.
> 
> Warnings: coarse language
> 
> Also, please be aware that this chapter has discussion on blood status (I mentioned earlier that this is a huge theme of the fic, and it'll be brought up here). There's a lot of stereotypes passed around - not just in this chapter with blood status, but also with Hogwarts houses. I hope this makes sense, because it's challenging for me to explain!
> 
> Enjoy!

_**BELLAMY** _

_****October 8, 1997_

* * *

Bellamy was pissed off. He was currently standing in the kitchen, a wooden spoon grasped in his hand, and he wanted to be anywhere but.

“Just stir the damn soup,” Raven snapped, her tone tired. She was over a few paces, a knife in her hands as she chopped up vegetables. “He’ll be back soon.”

“And then it’ll be too late,” he replied, his tone harsher than he wanted. Raven glanced at him, clearly not impressed. To appease her, he stepped up to the stove and began stirring the water in the pot. “When he gets back down here, _she’ll_ already be settled in.” He let out a rough sigh and tightened his grip on the spoon. “I should’ve recognized a snake when I seen one.”

“Oh, come off it,” Raven said. “If she’s half as bad as you say she is, I doubt McGonagall would’ve pointed her in this direction.”

“That’s why Snape was a professor at Hogwarts for so long,” he replied dryly, “because Dumbledore _definitely_ knew he was a Death Eater and kept him around for shits and giggles.” His vigorous stirring caused some of the water to splash out of the pot. “No. Of course not, Raven. He didn’t know Snape was a Death Eater in secret – how could McGonagall know _she_ isn’t one either?”

Raven tossed a slice of mushroom at his head. “You sound like a prick.”

Bellamy glared. She shouldn’t be here – not now, not when she was on the opposite side of the war. “You do know who she is, right? You know who her mother is?”

“I do.” Her voice was strained. “But we aren’t like our parents, Bellamy. I’m nothing like my mom.” She turned back to chopping vegetables. “Maybe they’re only rumours.”

“Rumours have to be based in truth,” he insisted. He clenched his jaw. “Merlin, do you remember how vicious she was on the field? Of course she’s a Death Eater now.”

Raven’s knife stilled. “If I remember correctly, you were _just_ as vicious as she was.” He could feel her eyes on the back of his head. “Besides, Kane wouldn’t let a Death Eater stay here.”

“She’s not actually staying here, is she?” His lips twitched. “I swear, if this isn’t just a sick joke-”

“She’s staying.” Bellamy jolted when Kane’s voice came from the doorway. “Looks like you two are going to be neighbours.”

“Fuck me,” Bellamy groaned under his breath.

Kane’s eyes flashed with warning. _Shit._ He didn’t mean for him to hear that. “Be happy it isn’t roommates.” His eyes flicked back to Raven. “She’s settling in now. Be sure to show her how things work around here when you get a chance.” Bellamy locked eyes with Kane. “And be sure _not_ to take a page out of Bellamy’s book.”

Raven nodded. “Will do.”

He scoffed. What the hell was Raven on? She was standing there, like she was comfortable with what was going on. Wasn’t she worried that someone from Slytherin was going to be staying with them? Not only that, but someone from the infamous Griffin family – a family filled with Death Eaters and pure-blood believers?

Clarke Griffin was dangerous. She was a danger to everyone here – a danger to _his family._ They didn’t survive this long only to be offed by someone they let in to their homes.

No, he couldn’t allow it. Maybe he was being too harsh, but this was his life. He already made too many mistakes that let his family get hurt. He already trusted people without hesitation, only for that to come bite him in his ass.

_Octavia. Octavia. Octavia._

Her name was a constant hum in his mind. He screwed up with her, and he wasn’t going to screw up here.

His eyes flicked to Kane. “Can I speak to you? Alone?” If Raven wasn’t going to back him up, then so be it. _He wasn’t going to let someone dangerous come in the house._ No matter what.

“Screw you too, Bellamy,” Raven said, her knife clattering to the countertop. She stepped forward, her eyes flashing and her jaw set. “You-”

“It’s okay, Raven,” Kane assured her, making her falter. She froze mid-step, her finger lifted and pointed at Bellamy’s chest. “Why don’t you go make sure Clarke’s settling in okay?”

She spun to him, her eyes narrowed. She was silent for a few moments, as if debating the amount of damage Bellamy could cause while she was gone, before nodding. “Fine. Don’t be stupid,” she reminded him as she left.

He wasn’t being stupid. He was being cautious.

He knew Griffin better than anyone in the safe house, even if he couldn’t stand her. Someone once told him that they truly didn’t know someone until they were enemies.

They’d been rivals on the Quidditch pitch for the last four years. Sure, Raven also played the sport, but Ravenclaw didn’t rival Slytherin like Gryffindor did.

He knew Griffin was vicious on the pitch. She wasn’t afraid to play dirty. Once, she tried to slip the whole Gryffindor team a laxative before their match, and they only managed to find out once one of their beaters already ate. Another time, she took all of the afternoon practices before the Gryffindor team could, meaning they were stuck with morning practices all term.

 _(That isn’t exactly violent,_ a small voice in his mind said. _She never tried to kill anyone.)_

(Then again, it was pretty sad that _murder_ was the standard of viciousness.)

Not only was she vicious when it came to Quidditch, but it was also the case off the pitch. Whenever they’d see each other in the hallways, she’d insult him.

( _You insulted her too,_ he reminded himself.)

She hung around with terrible people.

That was probably the worst of it all. He might’ve been able to excuse insults and friendly competition, but he’d never excuse the people she hung around with. She stood beside them as they called others mudbloods, she stood by them as, one by one, they gained the dark ink on their inner arm.

He remembered her doing nothing while Umbridge was in control of the school. Even though she never stood beside her, she didn’t stand with them, and that was just as bad. She didn’t have scars carved into the back of her hand from cursed pens and cursed lines and cursed detentions.

When Dumbledore fell back in June, she wasn’t one of the students fighting back. If he had to guess, she was with her good friend Malfoy, burning the banners in the Great Hall.

Her friends picked on people without pure blood. _Mudblood_ was a common phrase among her people – they said it without batting an eye. They didn’t associate with people that they claimed were less than them, and their claimed superiority made him sick.

 _And her mother._ Raven was right – not everyone was like their parents – but he knew that wasn’t the case with Griffin. Just in July, Griffin was spotted in black robes beside her mother. As far as he knew, she’d been living in her family mansion for the last four months. How did she go from being coddled by Voldemort yesterday to being in their safe house today?

“You don’t know who she is,” Bellamy said once Raven left the room. Kane remained across the room, and his expression remained emotionless. “This is the first time you’ve met her?”

“It is,” Kane agreed. He walked further into the kitchen and picked up where Raven left off with chopping vegetables. His shoulders were relaxed and Bellamy wanted to scream. _Don’t you know who she is? Don’t you know what danger you just let in?_ “She seems nice enough.”

He should’ve guessed this would happen. Griffin was a Slytherin – they were manipulative and good at hiding who they truly were. There was a reason the animal of her house was a snake; they were all two-faced and predators. They never did anything as it appeared – they always had secret motives, and hidden truths, and poison in their fangs.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that Griffin already had Kane wrapped around her finger. He already believed everything she told him. She was playing the innocent, even though he knew there was more to the story. There always was when it came to the likes of her.

Bellamy tried to keep his voice even when he spoke. “I know who she is beyond introductions.” Kane’s expression remained blank. “She’s dangerous and foul. She hangs with the wrong crowd.”

Kane didn’t glance in Bellamy’s direction as he chopped mushrooms. “The wrong crowd?” he echoed.

 _Fuck,_ he wasn’t understanding. Bellamy felt like he was on the edge of panic and desperation. _He needed to understand. He needed to see how dangerous this is._

“She hangs around with the likes of Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, Parkinson, and Malfoy. Those aren’t just some bratty kids, Kane. _They’re Death Eaters._ They worship You-Know-Who.”

Kane glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “I know what Death Eaters are, Bellamy.”

“Every single one of her housemates – her _friends_ – have taken up the mark,” he pointed out, his voice growing agitated. _A Death Eater was living among them._ It felt like he was drowning – like he wasn’t protecting his family properly by letting her stay. “And that’s not even the worst. _Her mother –_ her own mother – is a known Death Eater.” Before Kane could reply, he continued speaking. “I’m not stupid. Every single one of her friends and family are followers of You-Know-Who – where does that leave her?”

“What are you implying?” a new voice asked, their voice deadly calm. His head swiveled around and his eyes landed on Griffin in the doorway.

He was surprised to see her there. Wasn’t she supposed to be settling in with Raven? A flash of anger went through him.

 _She was spying on them already._ She must’ve snuck down to the kitchens and eavesdropped on their conversation.

He should’ve expected as much.

Despite his surprise, he didn’t miss a beat. “I thought I was pretty obvious,” Bellamy said. “You’re a Death Eater.”

She scoffed. Anger was burning bright inside of her – he could see it in her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me then – tell me you’re not one of them.”

Her face was expressionless when she spoke. “I’m not a bloody Death Eater, Blake.” Her lips tightened.

He glanced at Kane again. “You do _know_ her, don’t you? Not just _about_ her?”

“What’s the difference,” she replied before Kane could.

Blake’s eyes shifted to her again. If anything, at least arguing with her was familiar. “The difference, Griffin, is it is one thing to know your name and your Hogwarts house, but it’s another thing altogether to know who you truly are.”

She arched her brow. “And who is that, Blake? Who am I? _Truly?_ ” She mocked him easily. The bad blood between them had been brewing for years.

“A Slytherin,” he stated simply, like that explained it all. “You’re a slimy snake, like the rest of your lot. You spend your days lurking in the dungeons and your nights prowling the restricted sections. You don’t have a bone of loyalty or trustworthiness in you, and not an ounce of courage either.”

“Rather poetic sounding, aren’t you?” she snapped.

Bellamy wasn’t finished yet. “I know who you are, Griffin. I’ve spent enough time on the pitch to know who you _truly_ are. Ruthless. Cunning. Ambitious.”

She lifted her chin. He recognized this expression from Hogwarts – he was getting under her skin. It was a normalcy that he didn’t know he missed. “Are these supposed to be insults, Blake? Try a little harder.”

_I will._

“You think you’re better than everyone because of that _pretty_ last name of yours, and because of how pure your blood is.”

His works hit their mark; he could tell by the quick crack in her mask. Her eyes widened the slightest bit and her lips parted. Just as quick as the emotions were there, they were gone. Her face turned to stone once again. To cover it, she quipped back. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Pretty fucking annoying.”

Despite all their bickering in school, he hadn’t seen her look _this_ pissed in a long time – not since Gryffindor beat Slytherin for the Quidditch cup in his sixth year. Even then, her anger then didn’t hold a candle to what it was now.

“Bellamy, that’s enough,” Kane snapped, his voice holding no room for questions. He turned to Clarke, his eyes softening. “Please excuse Bellamy – his head isn’t in the right place right now.”

Bellamy’s eyes were slits as he regarded Kane. _This had nothing to do with any of that._ Griffin was a danger to them all – it was a nonbiased opinion.

“I’m not excusing him for anything,” she snapped, her words filled with venom. Her eyes found his again. Her hands were fists by her sides, like she was preparing for a fight. He almost laughed at the image of her trying to fight someone without using her precious magic. “You don’t know who I am, Blake. You know nothing about me.”

 _I know enough._ He’d been at the receiving end of her glares and snide comments for years. He knew what she was capable of.

“Maybe I don’t need to. I know your type.”

“And what type is that?”

If he was being honest, Bellamy wasn’t truly thinking in that moment. His blood was rushing through his veins and pounding in his ears. Later, when he would look back at this moment, he would realize that he _didn’t_ know her – just like she didn’t know him.

Still, in that moment, he was confident he knew _exactly_ who she was.

“You’re privileged. You think you’re better than everyone, just because of how _pure_ your precious blood is, and how green your stupid robes are. You’re vile for the company you keep. You’re dangerous.”

She licked her lips. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have a witty response to what he said. She looked stunned, if he was being honest. “You don’t know me,” she repeated, her voice rawer. It made his heart stop beating for a brief moment. He couldn’t recall a time where she sounded so vulnerable. “You may think you know me, but you don’t know the _first_ thing about me.” She lifted her eyebrows. “You see green and you think you know who I am, but you don’t.”

Before he could respond, she ripped up the left sleeve of her robe. Bellamy’s eyebrows disappeared behind his curls when he noticed it was completely mark free.

 _Oh. Shit._ That wasn’t what he was expecting. He never expected her to bare her skin to him, not without being forced to, at least. More surprising than her voluntarily lifting her sleeve was the fact her skin was smooth and unmarked.

 _No dark mark._ She wasn’t marked by Voldemort. His mind reeled with this realization. He’d been so sure that the black snake and skull was embedded into her forearm – he would’ve sworn on his life.

_He was wrong._

He stopped short. _What else was he wrong about?_

“No dark mark,” she pointed out, her voice unwavering. “Despite what you think you know about me, I’m not a follower of Voldemort.” He didn’t flinch when she spoke his name. Even though _his_ name sent jolts of fear down his spine, he refused to let her see this. He was always told to never give your enemy an advantage; never let your enemy know your fear. “I don’t believe in his agenda. I _never_ have been a pureblood enthusiast.” She shoved her sleeve down and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “I’m not like my mother.”

He fell silent.

What did she mean that she never believed in his agenda? That she didn’t believe that purebloods were above all? That muggleborns didn’t deserve magic?

He knew who she hung out with. The whole group of them were loud about what they believed. _Mudblood. Muggle-trash. Blood traitors._ They liked to position themselves higher than anyone else around them. They spoke vile things about people that weren’t like them.

She was lying to his face, wasn’t she? How could she stand there and say she never believed in that stuff when he knew what she said before?

 _Wait._ His mind reeled. _Did she ever say that before? Did those words ever come from her mouth?_

He couldn’t remember a time where she said those words, not the people around her. He didn’t have one clear memory of Griffin shoving blood status down people’s throats like Malfoy and Nott did.

A sinking feeling filled his gut. _Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was-_

No. No, he couldn’t go down that path. He couldn’t screw up here because their safety was on the line. He couldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt, or anyone for that matter. If he did, they’d die.

Kane tried to mend the deep fractures between them. “We’re all a little on edge right now. We’re all not thinking clearly.” He turned his gaze to Griffin. “And when I say _we_ , I am meaning us. You didn’t come in here looking for a fight. I’m truly sorry, Clarke.” She didn’t reply. He turned to Bellamy. They locked eyes. “Apologize.”

He felt his jaw drop open. “ _What?_ ”

No. No way in hell.

“Apologize to Ms. Griffin,” he pressed. “You’ve insinuated terrible things about her, and accused her of a horrible thing.”

He scoffed. “Sure, maybe Griffin was right.” The words felt like acid on his tongue. “ _We don’t know her_. How do we know she isn’t lying right now? How do we know that she didn’t just conceal the mark on her arm?”

“Merlin,” Clarke swore.

Kane looked pissed. “Bellamy,” he warned. “You are on thin ice.”

He lifted his hands. “It’s the truth. We don’t know her. We don’t know what she’s capable of!”

“Do you truly believe that she would be here if she didn’t absolutely need to be?” Kane pressed. “Think, Bellamy. This is a safe house filled with four Hogwarts students – four students who have kept out of the spotlight for _years._ Why would she be here? Do you truly think You-Know-Who would waste his time on infiltrating a small safe house with nobody of importance?”

There was logic to what Kane was saying – he couldn’t deny it. He faltered. “I… I don’t know.”

“Clarke wouldn’t be here unless she was in the same situation as you,” he continued. Bellamy scoffed. No way in hell would the precious Slytherin Princess be in the same position as him. She didn’t know the first thing about this war. She didn’t know the pain it brought and all the death it caused. “This is a safe house for _everyone_ who is in trouble – regardless of family names, regardless of houses. If someone is in trouble, we _will_ welcome them with open arms.”

“You did a bang up job,” Clarke said dryly. “I really feel welcome.”

“For that, and much more, I’m sorry,” he said again. She nodded stiffly. He turned back to Bellamy “You’re on dish duty for the rest of the month, or until I find a more suitable punishment for you.”

Bellamy knew he’d make the situation worse if he said anything, so he merely nodded. _Fuck._ This didn’t go how he wanted it.

Silence consumed them. Bellamy’s gaze had lifted to watch the ceiling fan spin around lazily. He could feel the tenseness in his muscles in his shoulders and down his back. _Fuck._ He wanted to scream.

She was the one to break the silence.

“Blake,” Griffin said, her voice hesitant. The sudden change in tone made his vision tilt on an axis. He never heard her sound so genuine before. They locked eyes. “I know you hate me. I know we have never seen eye to eye on things.” _That was an understatement_. “But I didn’t think that you thought so low of me.”

If he thought she was capable of it, he would’ve sworn she sounded hurt as she spoke.

 _Not possible._ He saw her on the Quidditch pitch, when she was under pressure, and she looked as stony as always. He saw her in the hospital wing once with a broken nose and blood all over her face, but she didn’t look phased.

Maybe he didn’t know Clarke Griffin as well as he thought he did, but he was _sure_ that she always wore a mask. She’d never let someone know when she was hurting, not by accident anyways. If he was taught the lesson about never letting your enemies see your weaknesses, she must’ve been taught the same thing.

“Be honest, Griffin,” he said, his voice already having lost the anger it held. He sounded as tired as he felt. “You hate me just as much as I hate you.”

Her lips were thin. Her nod was stiff. “Sure, Blake. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

His breath caught in his chest and his blood seemed to freeze in his veins. Her words caught him completely off-guard.

As he floundered, she turned to Kane. “I’m going to turn in for the night, if that’s okay?”

As they discussed her integration into the house, Bellamy struggled to breathe. Her words seemed to impact him more than he’d ever like to admit.

_Whatever helps you sleep at night._

What was that supposed to mean? It was almost as if she was implying that she didn’t hate him as much as he thought she did, but that couldn’t be right. If the rumors were true, she wouldn’t only hate him because of their rivalry stretching years, but she would hate him because of his blood status too.

_If the rumors were true._

He tried to push down the sudden unease in him. _Of course_ the rumors were true. They had to be.

If they weren’t, that meant everything he knew about her was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to take a moment to explain Bellamy in this chapter. Writing him in these early chapters has been my number one writing challenge so far. I don't like writing Clarke and Bellamy at opposite ends, especially over something like this. 
> 
> I feel like the assumptions in this chapter (like Clarke _has_ to be a Death Eater because she's in Slytherin and because of her family) must've been common in the Wizarding World during this time. In the Harry Potter books, we got to see a LOT of that (for example, as Hagrid said, "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin"), so I felt like it made sense to add that here.
> 
> I hope this makes sense. I'm honestly kind of sleep typing this author's note right now, so if I'm rambling or I'm not making sense, let me know and I'll discuss it when I'm actually awake.
> 
> Thanks for reading! The next update will be tomorrow and it's set to be a long one!
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 3: Natural Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update yesterday! I planned to edit this chapter before posting it, but then the new episode of The 100 aired, and I was inspired to do some canon Bellarke work. So uh… blame Bellarke for the lack of update.
> 
> I hope the length of this one makes up for it! This is by far my least favourite chapter so far, just because it was a pain to write, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.
> 
> Warnings: coarse language
> 
> Enjoy!

_**CLARKE** _

_October 17, 1997_

* * *

The next week was rather uneventful. The peace was foreign to Clarke, who’d spent most of her life caught in a brewing war.

Kane’s safe house was something she never experienced before. After the last few months of being on the run alone, it was strange to stay in one spot for so long. Every so often, she’d glance over her shoulder, expecting to see silver masks and green lights. It was the first time that she’d lived somewhere where everyone was happy?

Well, maybe not happy – especially not with her around. _But they were at peace._ They were relaxed. They were comfortable with each other.

It was different than where she grew up, with cold expressions and sharp words and stern lessons. It was different than the Slytherin house, where there was a constant divide and tension from the brewing war. It was different than anything she could imagine.

Blake and Reyes, and Harper and Monty were close to each other, and as a group. Despite only being in the safe house for a week, she couldn’t count the amount of times she accidentally walked in on Harper and Monty with their lips pressed together. It was impressive, really.

She was still an outsider though, and she didn’t really expect anything different. Not only did she wear green robes, and not only did her reputation preceded her, but she was new. The four of them were a family – a unit – and she was intruding on that.

Clarke thought back to two days ago, when she walked in on Blake and Reyes in the kitchen in the morning. That had been the first and last time she attempted to grab her food and dash before the rest of the house woke up.

They’d been hunched over the kitchen table, their faces only inches apart. Reyes wore a large NASA shirt and a pair of white cotton shorts, while Blake wore a shirt she recognized from the Quidditch World Cup. The lights were dim and their voices hushed, like they were meeting in secret.

 _Maybe they were meeting in secret._ As soon as she pushed the door open, they both jumped apart. Blake whipped his head around to stare at her, suspicion in his eyes.

 _At least it was only suspicion, not hatred._ That was probably the most interesting that had changed over the course of the week, which was saying a lot. She probably would’ve had more to watch if she was watching grass grow.

Blake was an entity that she wanted to figure out. That first day she arrived, he was adamant on her leaving. His words were sharp and his voice filled with venom, _and it hurt._ She’d never admit that truth to anyone, but it was simply that – the truth.

It hurt that people looked at her and assumed they knew everything about her. The green on her robes, the snake on her necklace, her family name – people saw any of those things and made up their minds of who she was.

 _She understood._ She didn’t like it, but she understood.

Clarke was a witch who prided herself on logic and detachment. Those were characteristics that helped her stay alive while she was living in the snake den, and it looked as though those same traits were going to keep her alive here.

They lived in dark times; death followed people like a cloud, betrayal was more common than laughter, and trust was as rare as unicorns. People survived by closing themselves off. They survived by assuming the worst of people because, yeah, sometimes the worst assumptions came true.

No matter who the person was, if they were an outsider, people would be suspicious. Slytherin had a reputation of being twined with the dark arts and for being the house to produce all the vile wizards and witches in the world; anyone with green robes was regarded with suspicion. It didn’t matter who they were – people thought that the safest option was to assume they were all evil.

 _And her family._ She grew up with Death Eaters as family friends. When she was fourteen, her mother abandoned everything to return to bow the the Dark Lord’s feet. Of course people were going to be suspicious of her – they were going to assume that she stood beside her family.

Like she said – she understood others’ perspective because that’s how she stayed alive for so long, but that didn’t mean she agreed with it, or liked it.

 _Believe me,_ she wanted to say. _Nobody hates my family like I do._

The second Friday after she arrived at Kane’s safe house, Clarke woke up to an empty room, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. Being alone had become the normal around here.

It was what she wanted; she couldn’t imagine pretending to be friends with people that didn’t trust her. She didn’t _want_ to be friends with people that always kept an eye on her, waiting for her to crack and betray them.

Being alone was easy. It was safe. It was normal.

Harper was the friendliest out of the group, but, even then, she stuck close to Monty. The two Hufflepuffs never tried to _avoid her,_ as far as she knew, but they didn’t go out of their way to strike up conversation with her.

(Even if they tried to, she wasn’t sure what they would talk about. They were all so different.)

It was awkward having to share a room with Reyes. The only times she would see the older girl was right before bed and in the morning; every other second, she spent it somewhere else in the house, most of the times in the make-shift library in Kane’s study, pouring over dusty books.

 _Blake, on the other hand,_ he was actively avoiding her. While their interaction on the first day was volatile, the remaining week was spent in silence. Other than in the kitchen that one morning, they never even looked directly at each other. He was always talking to one of the other three original students, too, always putting distance between them.

It was for the best. At least they weren’t at each other’s throats.

Out of habit, she reached under her pillow and felt the cool wood of her wand with her fingertips. A sense of relief washed over her because _at least she was safe._ As long as she had her wand, she’d be okay.

She learned pretty early on in the war to not be too far away from her wand. When she returned home for summer in her fourth year, her life had changed, and she had to change with it.

Clarke rolled onto her back and focused on the white of the ceiling. The only downside of isolating herself from the others in the safe house was the fact that she was left alone with the demons in her head.

As she let her thoughts run wild, she focused on the fact her heart was rhythmically beating in her chest and her breathing was even. It was calming – grounding.

When Voldemort came back to life, he recalled his followers from every corner of the world – her mother included. She was oblivious to this fact as it happened; as Death Eaters gathered around the world, she sat in the stands, watching the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. She was dressed in head-to-toe in Krum’s colours, joining her housemates in cheering for the Bulgarian wizard.

Then, Potter and Diggory returned – except, not really. _Potter_ returned, and only Diggory’s body came back with him.

Clarke closed her eyes, trying to fight off the memories that were popping up.

She remembered the cool hands that grasped her heart when she realized that the boy a few years older than her died. She remembered feeling like someone had reached down her throat and pulled out her lungs.

_That was the first time she was exposed to death._

She doubted she’d ever forget that feeling – the feeling of being terrified, and lost, and blindsided. She doubted she’d ever forget who she turned to when the first cry echoed through the dead night.

_Blake._

Clarke remembered cringing away from her dead schoolmate. She gasped for breath and turned towards the last spot she saw him, seeking his brown eyes. She didn’t know why she did it at the time, and she still hadn’t figured it out, three years later. All she remembered was the _need_ to find him, to make sure he was okay, to make sure he wasn’t with Diggory on the ground.

(Besides, he needed to be alive so she could kick his ass on the field the following year. _Yeah,_ that was why she desperately looked for him in the crowd.)

For a brief moment, they locked eyes across the stands. She saw the shock and disbelief and horror in his expression. A female Gryffindor in her year with black hair clung to his side and his arm was wrapped around her shoulder protectively – like a simple piece of flesh and blood could protect her from the horrors of the world.

It was a nice sentiment.

The eye contacted must’ve lasted for less than a second, but she remembered his expression years later. That was the first _and only_ time in her life that she saw anything other than cockiness and arrogance from him. It was the first time that she didn’t see him as the ass in the year above her, or the infuriating Gryffindor Quiddich Captain – she saw the true _human_ under it all.

She never got to see that side of him again. When he looked away to comfort his sister, _that was that._ They continued to trade insults through the next two years, fighting to maintain a sense of normalcy through Quidditch. Outside of the sport, the next time she spoke to him was only a week before.

The world changed the day of the Triwizard Tournament. People became colder and more distant. Friendly rivalries – like the one she had with Blake – turned sour.

After that day, she wasn’t just a harmless Slytherin Princess; she was dangerous, she was linked to dark magic, and she was out for blood. She was the daughter of a Death Eater from the first war, how could she _not_ be involved with his side the second time around? She wore green robes at school, so she _must_ wear black robes outside of the castle walls.

With all things considered, she had a pretty normal life up until that point. She grew up in the Griffin Family Manor – a mansion too big for just her and her mother, but she never complained. The manor was decorated in greens and silvers, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that their family had generations tied to Slytherin. The ceiling in her bedroom was plastered with glowing and moving stars; a gift that was given to her for her fourth birthday.

She was taught by her mother before she went to Hogwarts, much like other wizarding families. Even though she was too young to have a wand, she was educated on magic from an early age. Her mother was the one to teach her how to fly, how to hold a wand, how to use owl post.

Things were good growing up. It was just her and her mother most of the time, but she had friends. Before their innocence was stripped and they were forced into a world at war, she _enjoyed_ hanging out with her housemates. She grew up playing with Draco and Pansy, and giggling about Theo, and dancing with Blaise.

She grew up in high-society. When she was little, she thought she was there because her mother was a well-known healer. Sure, that was true, and it probably had something to do with it, but that wasn’t the full story. Her mother was a Death Eater the first time Voldemort rose to power, she was a pure-blood, _and_ she was a well-known and respected healer.

The rift between her and her friends became apparent during her first year at Hogwarts. _Fuck,_ she didn’t even want to think about how her world came crashing down during her first year.

 _Wells._ His name burned across her mind and her heart ached.

It was second nature to push it away.

Looking back, she regretted keeping the blindfold on out of fear of being different and out of fear of leaving her friends behind. She regretted a lot of things, she made a lot of mistakes – more than just what happened with her and Wells.

That first year, she remembered writing home to her mother. _What should I do?_

 _That’s life,_ her mother told her. _Get used to it._

She never got used to it, but she continued to ignore it. She wished that she went with her gut feeling back when she was eleven – if she got out then, maybe her life would be different. Maybe, instead of looking across the stands during the Triwizard Tournament for Blake, she would’ve been standing beside him. Maybe-

 _No._ She silenced those thoughts immediately.

No matter what, she never would’ve been friends with that arrogant prick. There was a reason he was a Gryffindor and she was a Slytherin. They were from two different worlds.

This rift between them – this rivalry – it was all part of the natural order.

A sharp knock at the bedroom door tore her from her thoughts. She was thankful for the interruption though; she was headed down a path that she didn’t want to be. She never wanted to think about Blake outside of how to crush his team on the field. She didn’t want to continue to think about the demons weighing on her shoulders.

Harper pushed the door open and smiled warmly at Clarke. She couldn’t help but smile back – the girl was a ray of sunshine in human form.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Clarke felt at ease in her presence. After years of being surrounded by her enemies, Harper was a nice change.

Despite isolating herself from the rest of the safe house, Harper treated her like they were long lost friends. Even now, she leaned against the doorframe easily, like the two of them talking was the most natural thing in the world.

_Hufflepuffs._

“It’s Friday, and Kane told us you were up for joining in on training today, right?”

 _Shit._ Training.

The ease that Clarke felt around Harper easily drained away. She forgot that she agreed to joining in on their ‘family fun’ this week. Kane was being a pain in the ass about it since Tuesday, practically begging her to come train with them.

(She wasn’t even sure _where_ they were supposed to train. She was sure outside was too dangerous, and the house was too small.)

 _“You’ll need it,”_ he told her, his confidence grating on her. How could he be so sure that she’d need training from him? _“Of all people here, Clarke,_ you _need this. Please. Come.”_

He didn’t bring up the target on her back often, but, when he did, it sent a shiver down her spine. He was right, of course; out of everyone in their safe house, she needed this the most.

Harper, Monty, Raven, and Blake were just students on the run. _They were part of the masses._ Their faces weren’t on posters, Death Eaters weren’t specifically looking under every rock for them, they weren’t being hunted. Sure, they were in danger, but they weren’t individual targets.

 _Her, on the other hand._ She needed the training Kane offered because she was an individual target. She was a pure-blood that abandoned her family and the cause. She left behind her black robes, she left behind her mother, she left behind her supposed friends – _and she ran._

It was terrifying, if she thought about it. At this very second, someone was out there, looking for her. Teams of people were out there, itching to bring her back to her family to collect their reward.

That thought alone made her jolt out of bed. She pushed the blankets off her body and swung her legs onto the ground, her wand already between her fingers.

“Training sounds good,” she said.

And it did. It really did. _Because Kane was right,_ no matter how much she wished he wasn’t. She was in danger and she needed to keep her skills sharp.

Everything here was temporary; training, a house, safety.

She walked with Harper to the back room on the main floor, where the rest of safe house occupants were already waiting. She chatted about an article she read in _Witch Weekly,_ and Clarke was almost thankful for the mind-numbing distraction. It was nice to pretend that this whole situation was normal.

Living with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in a secret house _–_ it wasn’t normal.

( _Neither was_ _war, hiding, training,_ she told herself.)

“Clarke, nice to see you.” Kane was the first to greet them when they entered the back room of the house.

 _Shit._ She wasn’t too sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t _this._ The room Harper lead her to looked smaller than the bathroom on the second floor of the safe house, but _it wasn’t._ In reality, it was larger than the rest of the house combined, and it was all packed into a tiny space.

 _Magic._ Having been on the run for months, she found a new sense of appreciation for feats of magic like this. She could barely toast bread without something catching on fire, never mind conceal a whole gymnasium in a closet.

The training room was as large as a Quidditch pitch. The ground was made from dirt and the walls were lined with small black boxes.

Harper sent her a final smile before moving to stand beside Monty. The other Hufflepuff sent her a tiny wave in greeting – one that she returned hesitantly.

Both Harper and Monty treated Clarke like she was _human,_ not like she was a monster or a snake like so many others did. It was… unnerving, to say the least. She never met another person who could be so friendly and open with a stranger.

She didn’t trust them. They had to have an ulterior motive. That was the only explanation.

“As you know, Fridays are for training,” Kane told her. “We’re all here because we’re in danger, and I’m not going to let you guys sit around here like ducks waiting to be picked off.” She forced a smile onto her lips and tried to pretend that his words weren’t making her sick. “This isn’t like Hogwarts, and I’m not a professor. You’re not going to sit in desks and do written assignments and study the things _solely_ for the purpose of your N.E.W.T. exams. You aren’t here to pass tests – you’re here to survive.”

Clarke shifted from one foot to another. The four other students around her didn’t seem phased by the conversation, but she felt like she had been thrown in the deep end. This was more intense than she thought it was going to be.

“You’ll be trained for a fight against someone who is trying to kill you – that’s something your Hogwarts education failed you on. Sure, you know theory of spells, and magical history, but what good is that going to do when you have the silver mask of a Death Eater inches from your face and a wand pressed against your neck?”

_Silver mask._

A chill like no other went down Clarke’s spine, making goose bumps jump onto her skin.

 _Fuck._ She felt sick.

 _She was going to be training to fight Death Eaters._ She never really thought of it before. _She was going to have to be facing those masks – those damn masks._

Kane was oblivious to the panic settling in her bones. He continued to speak as the world tipped around her.

“I’ve split training into five parts,” Kane continued to speak. As he counted up, he lifted his fingers. “One: offensive magic. This is your basic spells that you’ll most likely fall on during a fight; _Stupefy_ and the like.

“Two: defensive magic. This is something that is easily overlooked, but it will singlehandedly be the thing that will save your life. We’re going to practice shield charms here until you could cast them in your sleep.

“Three: magical applications. This isn’t your Defense Against the Dark Arts class – we aren’t going to be textbook because those people out there? They’re not going to be going by the textbook either. They’re going to use every weakness you have to their advantage. Death Eaters won’t wait for you to bow and they’re not going to stick to stunners.” He turned to Raven. “Reyes. What’s one spell _not_ taught in the DADA course that I’ve taught you here to use in battle.”

She didn’t hesitate. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” Clarke’s eyebrows rose in surprise. _That was an unexpected answer._ As if she could sense Clarke’s shock, the older girl glanced at her. “It’s a simple spell – easy to master, easy to perform. Levitate a bookshelf to rest against the door of a room you’re hiding in. Levitate a cauldron to hit your opponent in the head. Levitate a rock to block the killing curse.”

 _Oh._ She never thought of any of that.

Dread crept up her spine. She wouldn’t have thought to use a simple levitating charm like that. In her mind, magic was straightforward and clear cut. A levitating charm had no place in a battle – it was for first years to practice magic. Battles meant standing your ground and fighting as long as you could.

 _Shit._ What else was out there that she hadn’t thought of? Were there other spells that she could use in battle that she never thought of?

With a sinking realization, Clarke realized that she was entirely out of her depth here.

Kane must’ve sensed her dread. “It’s okay if you don’t know what we’re talking about, or if you aren’t as practiced as the other four,” he assured her. “These guys have been here for months. This is your first day. A lot of these skills don’t come naturally and they aren’t taught at Hogwarts.”

She managed a nod. _She was so screwed._

Kane lifted up his next finger. “Four: muggle 101. A lot of witches and wizards, especially from the pureblood families, don’t give muggle strategies a lot of thought.” Clarke wasn’t offended by his words because they were true. She didn’t know the first thing about muggle techniques of fighting _. Did they have fighting techniques?_ They must’ve, right? “Green, name a non-magic strategy I’ve taught you.”

Like Reyes, Monty didn’t hesitate. “Use the environment to your advantage.” Kane gestured for him to continue. “Shield charms aren’t the only way to stop a spell. It’s similar to what Raven said about levitating a rock, really, but this doesn’t use any charms. You just _dive._ If you see a spell coming for you and you can’t block it, move to stand behind something solid.”

Kane nodded and turned to Harper. “And why should we care about learning how to fight without magic?”

She instantly straightened up and squared her shoulders. “Outside of the obvious answer of not having our wands?” She faced Clarke and grinned. _Clarke didn’t feel like smiling back._ She never considered having to fight someone without her wand. The thought alone terrified her. “Because witches and wizards don’t _expect_ a witch like us to punch them in the mouth.” She let out a laugh – one that felt out of place while talking about fighting to the death. “ _Merlin,_ can you imagine just straight up kicking a Death Eater in the shins? They’d be so surprised that they’d drop their wands.”

Monty and Harper continued to snicker at that. If Clarke wasn’t so terrified and so overwhelmed, the imagery of a Death Eater straight up being hit with a fist instead of a spell would’ve been funny.

 _Too bad she was terrified and overwhelmed._ She didn’t know the first thing of fighting without magic.

“Good.” Kane sent a warm smile at Harper and Monty before turning to the last of the students. Clarke’s heart dropped to her stomach. “Blake, name the fifth and final aspect to training.”

For the first time that day, Clarke turned to acknowledge the Gryffindor. She tried to keep her expression as emotionless as possible, even though her heart prickled with annoyance and frustration. He stood as far away as physically possible from her, and she was glad about that. At least they were on the same page – neither of them wanted to be around the other.

When he spoke, his voice was tired. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction. “Team work.”

Kane gave a sharp nod. “Yes, _team work._ ” He locked eyes with Clarke. “This one is _very_ important. The others are all skills that are interchangeable. You lost your wand? You’re not going to be able to perform _any_ of the other skills we’re working on here. You’re cornered by a Death Eater and you can’t think of a spell outside of _Wingardium Leviosa?_ That’s fine – we worked on how to apply simple charms in battle, but that also means you’re not going to be performing stunning spells or shield charms.

“But team work? It doesn’t matter what other skills you’re using, you’re going to need this. You could have no wand, you could be using _Wingardium Leviosa,_ you could be focusing on stunners, you could be running away; _it does not matter._ You’re going to be using this skill.

“This isn’t something we work on specifically by practicing trust falls or whatever, this is something that will come naturally.” Kane glanced uneasily between her and Blake. She had to fight to urge to scowl at him. “All five of you live here together. One of the house rules is to stay in the house, which means you all spend a lot of time together, for better or worse. You eat together, cook together, live together, train together. Team work and team building will – _hopefully –_ come naturally.”

The five of them had fallen silent at Kane’s speech. It didn’t take someone with a Hogwarts degree to figure out what he was getting at. This was his gentle nudge to cut the shit and be friends.

 _Like that will ever happen._ It was hard enough being trapped with people that looked at her like she was a monster. They would never trust her, just like she would never be able to trust them.

_This was the natural order of things._

Kane must’ve took her silence as agreement, because he smiled. She decided to stay quiet – let him believe that they were all going to get along and become a team if it helped him sleep at night. She was fine on her own – she had _always_ been fine on her own.

“Good. Since this is your first training session, we’re going to do a favourite around here.” He gestured to the empty room behind him. “The goal is to hit the buzzer at the other end of the room.” As Kane spoke, she glanced around. Like he said, there was what looked like a red button at the far end of the room. It looked simple enough – all they had to do was walk across the Quidditch pitch. “You’re all on one team and will have to work together.”

Harper leaned over towards her. “It looks easy, doesn’t it?” She shrugged because _yeah, it did._ “It isn’t. We haven’t been able to make it halfway yet, and we’ve been at it for _weeks._ ”

Marked in the dirt floor, Clarke could see a white line drawn mid-way between where they stood and the button on the other end of the room. She could tell what Harper was saying was the truth; while the dirt was covered in footprints before the white line, there were no prints beyond it.

Kane looked smug. “It isn’t for lack of trying on their part.” He went on to explain how there were traps and hexes placed throughout the gymnasium that they’d have to conquer if they wanted to hit the buzzer.

Clarke glanced at Kane uneasily. “Can I watch today? I have no idea how to do this properly, or what is going on.”

Before Kane could respond, Reyes did. “Death Eaters aren’t going to let you watch first so you can see how to fight them properly.” She twirled her wand in her fingers and gestured to the vast room in front of them. “This is good practice.”

Clarke was surprised to note there wasn’t any hostility in her voice. While she hadn’t been as venomous as Blake had been, they weren’t exactly on friendly terms.

“Raven’s right,” Harper insisted. “We all need to be kept on our toes. When the time comes, we’re going to be out of our depth – just like how you’re feeling now. We have to be ready to expect the unexpected.”

 _Fuck._ Clarke gripped her wand tightly and forced a stiff nod. She had a feeling that this wasn’t going to go over well.

The four others seemed to gravitate towards each other. She hung near the back of the group, several paces from the others. Her eyes scanned the vast room, trying to figure out where the traps were going to bed.

Her eyes flicked back to the group in front of her. They positioned themselves in a formation already, with Blake at the head, Monty and Harper along the sides, and Reyes in the centre. She had no idea how to fit in with them without throwing their movements off, so she didn’t try.

As soon as Kane started the simulation, all hell broke loose. Clarke let out a startled yelp when a spell hit the shield Harper threw up seconds before. _Hell,_ she didn’t even _see_ the shield go up, never mind see the attack before it would’ve hit them.

It was Harper and Monty who had cast shield charms around the five of them. She didn’t know how they managed to spot the attack before it happened, but she was thankful. Whatever spell that hit them would’ve knocked her out cold.

She was quickly caught in the outskirts of what felt like an intricate dance. Monty and Harper were standing a few paces away on either side of the group, both of their backs towards each other. As they continuously cast shield charms over the group, Reyes and Blake took the offensive approach.

Clarke could only watch in awe as Harper took a step to the right, allowing Reyes to step forward and shoot a brilliant red light towards a box along the wall. The spell hit its mark easily, causing the automated machine to turn black with charcoal. The two women seemed to move together easily, like they’d practiced this a hundred times.

She was entirely out of her depth. The rest of the group worked together without much thought, and she was left three steps behind – both figuratively and literally. They moved together, making their way towards the far end of the pitch.

Blake took the lead on the group, alternating between the defensive and offensive spells. His wand was moving faster than she could keep up with, and she couldn’t help but feel amazed by his spell work. Despite all their time spent at school together, she’d never seen him cast a spell.

Monty must’ve noticed she was lagging behind the group, because he broke formation to grab her wrist. He smiled at her and pulled her beside him, their speed making her stumble on her own two feet a few times.

She couldn’t keep up with what was going on around her. One moment, Monty was casting a shield charm and dragging her along, the next he was pushing her forward, pulling away from the group.

As they stumbled away from formation, she glanced over her shoulder and noticed _everyone_ had scattered. Harper, Reyes and Blake all took off in one direction, while her and Monty sprinted in the other.

 _Fuck._ She was lost. She had no idea what was going on. She didn’t fit well with these people. She didn’t even know where to _start._

Luckily for her, she didn’t have to dwell on it for much longer. As Monty dragged her across the room, she stumbled over her own two feet, and she went flying forward. When she landed on the ground, all the air was knocked from her lungs and dirt flew into her mouth. Her wand was knocked from her grasp and was rolling across the room – although, that wasn’t a huge loss, considering _she had no fucking clue what was going on anyways._

Just as she looked up, she noticed a bright red light coming straight for her.

“Shit.”

The only thing she could do was swear before the stunner hit her, knocking her out.

* * *

When she woke up, Harper was kneeling over top of her. She could feel the tip of her wand pressed against the centre of her forehead.

As soon as the other girl noticed her waking, she let out a shaky breath and a half-smile. “Good. You’re awake.”

The wand was removed from her head and she leaned back, giving Clarke some much needed room. Her head was pounding from both the stunner and from hitting the ground.

“Are you okay?” That was Reyes now, taking Harper’s place over top of her. Once again, Clarke was startled to hear concern in her voice – not venom or disinterest. “You went down hard.”

Clarke pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. “I’m fine.” She pushed herself into a sitting position and tried to stop the room from spinning. The ground wobbled beneath her and it made her stomach roll.

“Kane called it,” Blake said after a silent moment. He was glancing back at where they started, only a few yards away. His expression was unreadable. “We’re going to have to restart.”

“Nice compassion,” Reyes snapped. She stood up and poked him in the arm. “If I remember correctly, you fell flat on your face the first time we did this, too.”

He glanced at Clarke lazily. “This was my first time dueling or fighting. Of course I was going to fall on my face. I had no previous experience.”

Despite the world still wobbling around her, Clarke found her voice. “You don’t think this was my first battle either?” She rested her chin on her knee and swallowed thickly. At least the room was starting to spin less. “You think I’ve been fighting my whole life?”

He glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. “Haven’t you?”

Clarke grit her teeth. “I think someone needs to help you remove the broomstick from your arse, Blake.” With that, she pushed off the ground. She stalked up to him, her shoulders back and her head high. “I’ll have you know, us purebloods aren’t raised to follow people into war without a second thought. We aren’t raised on war and fighting.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Bringing up blood status already? Should’ve seen that one coming.”

Clarke grit her teeth and gripped her wand tighter. Things were going so well, but of course they fell right back to sour bickering as soon as they acknowledged each other. The week of peace between them vanished within seconds of speaking to each other.

She was half considering firing a stunner right at his chest, but she knew she was already on thin ice with the safe house, just because of her reputation with the dark arts. She didn’t want to push her luck and go against one of Kane’s clear rules so soon.

Instead, she spun on her heel and stalked back over to the starting position. Kane was waiting there already, and she was sure he was going to point out everything she did wrong.

Yeah, she was a mess and she probably deserved some criticism, but she wasn’t in the mood. She was just knocked out, ate some dirt, and then woke up to Blake glaring down at her. The combination of those three things was sure to set _anyone_ on edge.

“Good work,” he praised, shocking Clarke to her core. Her steps faltered. “There’s a few things we need to work on, but that was good, considering this was your first time on the floor.” She nodded slowly in acknowledgement. She wasn’t too sure how to respond to his praise, so she remained frozen.

Kane turned his attention to the group trailing behind Clarke. “Monty, great job at trying to catch Clarke up to speed. You could’ve easily left her behind, in which case she would’ve been hit with a dozen more stunners.”

Monty sent her a grin. “That probably would’ve sucked more than the one you got hit with.”

It was easy to grin back at him. “Probably.”

“Harper, great use of movement and coordination with Raven,” he continued to praise. “Bellamy, you’re doing good at looking ahead – much better than last week. That’s the secret to these things, and battle in general, you have to keep your eyes up, and you have to keep your eyes everywhere. You never know who is around the corner, or what spell is being shot out from a dark hall.”

Harper nudged Clarke’s side with her elbow as Kane continued to talk. She leaned in closer to her and whispered in her ear. “I’m sure you already realized, but we’ve all kind of adapted to roles in a group setting. Monty and I try to focus on defense.”

It made sense to Clarke that defensive magic was their strong suit. Hufflepuffs were known for being loyal to a fault. Out of anyone, she’d trust those two the most to hold a shield to protect their friends.

“Raven is good at magic application,” she continued. “She has a brain for ingenuity and for bending the rules.” Clarke noticed that about Reyes over the last week; she was brilliant, but she wasn’t limited to a textbook. “Bellamy’s the biggest risk taker out of all of us, and he’s the easiest to follow. He always has a clear vision.”

Her spine prickled with his name. Bellamy was such a beautiful and poetic name, and it didn’t seem to fit with someone as coarse and rough as him. Blake suited him better.

Her eyes flicked over to where he was standing a few paces away. His attention was completely focused on Kane, which allowed her a few seconds to examine him without him noticing.

_The man in front of her was a long way away from the teenagers in the stands of the Triwizard Tournament._

Back then, he was different. His sister clung to him like he was her only rock. He was terrified, she could tell, but he tried to hide it. She remembered how desperate his eyes looked, even from across a crowd.

Now, he stood tall. His face was expressionless and it reminded her of stone. She’d seen that look more times than she could count in her life; maybe not from him, but it was easy to recognize.

_He was hiding._

His stony expression was a mask, hiding the truth behind it. She saw it before with her mother and with her friends. She saw it with the Death Eaters that lived in her manor, even before they slipped the silver mask over their features.

Clarke swallowed thickly and quickly adverted her eyes. Just thinking of those damn silver masks made her want to get sick. Her headache and queasiness from earlier came back full force.

“Are we good to go again?” Kane prompted. Blake gave a firm nod and readjusted his grip on his wand. Clarke, on the other hand, was too focused on keeping the room from spinning. “Clarke, try to get more involved this time around. You saw what everyone else does, so try to do the same.”

The second attempt at the simulation went better for the first, if only because she didn’t eat dirt by the end of it. When Kane called for the start, she kept up with the group as they moved forward without Monty having to grab her hand.

Those were the only two wins from the simulation, if she could even call them that.

Within the first thirty seconds, she bumped into both Monty and Harper, throwing off both of their shields. Luckily, Reyes had been paying attention, and managed to put up a shield to cover Harper before she was taken out.

Unfortunately, Monty was still left unshielded, and the next stunner knocked him to the ground.

Reyes fell into Monty’s position of shield charms, but the group seemed to spiral. Harper and Monty moved seamlessly, like they were performing a well choreographed dance, while her and Reyes moved choppily at best. With Reyes focused on the shield charms, it was left up to Blake to take out the automated machines around the room as they went, meaning _they barely moved forward._

This was awkward, so very awkward.

The three others were pulling double their weight because of her mistake, yet she was _still standing awkwardly in the middle of their huddle._ Her wand was grasped loosely in her hand and pointed at the floor. Her eyes darted between the others, her mind trying desperately to keep up.

She had no idea what was going on, and, even worse, she had no idea how she was going to fit into all of this. It was like Harper said earlier – they all had their own roles already. She was an extra to the group – _an outsider._

Story of her life.

 _Shit_. Clarke knew that this was because of her. If she hadn’t accidentally knocked the shields out of place, their movement across the room would’ve actually been happening, instead of them standing in one spot. Monty wouldn’t have been passed out a few yards away from them, Reyes would’ve been able to assist Blake with the offensive portion, and Blake wouldn’t have been cursing her name.

“Griffin!” he called over his shoulder. “Please tell me you at least know how to perform a stunner?”

She glared at the back of his head. “Of fucking course I know how to perform a stunner!”

“Then do something!” he hissed.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake, why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been the annoying Weasley kid at the safe house? Why did it have to be Bellamy fucking Blake?

Despite her wanting to bite back at him, her eyes swept along the walls of the room, desperately looking for a spot the spells were shooting out of. He was right; she could perform a stunner. She could _try_ to take up Reyes’ position. That would make all of this less awkward, right?

When Clarke spotted a box attached to the wall, she flung a well-aimed _Reducto_ at it, and watched with satisfaction as it exploded. Even if it was one of many things, _it was something,_ and that was better than nothing.

“Forward,” Blake called over his shoulder. Clarke gripped her wand tighter and tried to ignore the urge to shoot a stunner _at him._ Merlin, who did he think he was, ordering all of them around? _Gryffindors_. They annoyed the shit out of her.

Today must’ve been her lucky day.

She moved forward with the group, just as Blake requested, and she was feeling pleased with herself for being able to move with them. That was loads better than the first time, where Monty had to physically drag her around.

Just as she was starting to feel pleased with the situation, she ended up bumping into Blake’s back. He stumbled forward, clearly not expecting to be hit from behind, and broke formation.

That was all their group needed to fall apart.

Blake stepped out of line to regain his balance, leaving the protection of Harper’s left shield. Not even a second after she bumped into him, a stunner hit him square in the chest, and he went crashing to the ground.

Clarke could only watch with mild amusement as he fell unconscious.

She stumbled backwards, overcorrecting her mistake, and her shoulder ended up smacking into Raven’s. Just like what happened with Monty, her shield was thrown off, and a stunner took her out. Before she hit the ground, a stunner hit Harper in the back, knocking her out as well.

_Shit._

Out of all possibilities, she never would’ve guessed she would be spending part of her day surrounded by the unconscious bodies of her housemates.

Great. This was sure to go over well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter up tomorrow, but I’ll keep everyone posted. Thanks for all the lovely feedback.
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 4: An Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a direct continuation of the last chapter! (Originally, it was one mega chapter, but it was split.)
> 
> Also, just a note, I do put warnings in the top note of each chapter, but sometimes they will contain spoilers (like this chapter, for instance). I try to keep the warnings vague, but if you don’t want any spoilers, don’t read the warnings!
> 
> Warnings: coarse language, blood, violence
> 
> Enjoy!

_**CLARKE** _

_October 17, 1997_

* * *

Clarke was the only one left standing from their group, and she never hated anything more than that moment. She was surrounded by the unconscious bodies of people that already hated and distrusted her.

She turned around and locked eyes with Kane across the room. His hand was pressed over his lips, suppressing something that looked suspiciously like a smile.

“Shit,” she squeaked. “That was totally by accident.” She cringed. “Okay, me saying that made it sound like it _wasn’t_ an accident, but it really was. I-” She pressed the palms of her hands against her face in mortification.

Only she could manage to knock out four trained witches and wizards by accident. 

When he reached her, Kane squeezed her shoulder in comfort. “It’s fine, Clarke. That’s why we train. Could you imagine the disaster this would’ve been if we were out in the field and not in the back room? What about if these weren’t something as harmless as stunners?”

Clarke didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about fighting – period. All she wanted to do was run and hide and stay safe – she never signed up for the war.

 _She never signed up for this._ All she wanted to do was run away from the silver masks and black cloaks. All she wanted to do was lay low until the war finished. All she wanted to do was stay out of this conflict, not train to jump into the middle of it. 

She didn’t tell him that. She merely nodded.

“Help me wake them up, and then we’ll run it again.”

Thank Merlin that Kane was the one to wake Blake up. She was kneeling over Harper when he cast _Rennervate_ on him.

In classic Blake fashion, the first words out of his mouth were ones cursing at her. 

“What the absolute fuck, Griffin.”

She didn’t know where he got the energy, but he immediately pushed himself into a sitting position and glared at her. His face was red and his eyes still looked glassy, but it was nice knowing he was able to be pissed despite it.

“It was an accident,” she told him, her voice sharp. She knew the mistake she made— she really didn’t need _Bellamy freaking Blake_ reminding her of it. “I didn’t know you were going to stop walking!”

His glare didn’t soften.

“First you took out Monty, and then you took out me!” He glanced around at the other unconscious bodies around him. When he spotted Reyes and Harper, he scoffed. “Let me guess, that was your doing too?”

Clarke squared her shoulders. “Listen, I didn’t know you were going to stop so suddenly, _okay?_ It wasn’t my fault.”

“Or maybe you meant to sabotage our training,” he retorted. 

A flash of anger went through her. Clarke grabbed a fist full of dirt and chucked it at his head. He swatted at it as it flew through the air, turning it into a large cloud of dust.

“You’re a major ass, Blake,” she snapped. “Of course not! I can’t even fathom where you’re getting these ideas from. I should’ve just listened to Nott – Gryffindors are _really_ dense.”

Blake scowled. “Nice to know you’re taking advice from your Death Eater friends of yours.”

Back to this. Of course it was back to this. Even though he wasn’t calling _her_ a Death Eater anymore, he still used her Slytherin housemates against her.

“You know, I really thought that arrogant jerk act was something for the field. Glad to know that I was wrong.” Her tone was sharper than glass. She was getting fed up with walking on eggshells around him. No matter what she did, he was going to hate her; it didn’t matter if it was a mistake or an accident, he’d always hold her to an impossible standard. “You realize that if you randomly stop walking while leading a group, someone is going to bump into you, right? It basic manners to _not_ cause a collision by giving fair warning to the people behind you – or did your mother not teach you that?”

His jaw locked and she saw something dangerous flash in his eyes. She couldn’t recall a time seeing him like this. 

For a moment, she was worried that she crossed a line with them. 

Then, she remembered the way he watched her inner left arm for the past week, looking for any hints of black ink.

Her glare hardened.

“I’d love to talk to you about what _your_ mother taught you,” he retorted. “I wouldn’t exactly classify the Cruciatus Curse as manners, but to each their own, right?”

Just as Clarke was about to open her mouth to reply, Kane cut them off.

“Enough,” he said firmly. The words died on her lips. There was something about Kane that demanded people listen to him. “Bellamy, you’re on thin fucking ice.”

 _Wow,_ she thought sarcastically, _who would’ve guessed that dish duty wouldn’t have solved the brewing conflict between them?_ She knew he wouldn’t learn his lesson from the first day by scrubbing a few plates.

Kane looked at her closely. “Clarke, are you okay?” She nodded and kept her expression blank. “Okay. Good.” 

As they were arguing, he made short work of reviving Reyes, Monty and Harper – the three of them were stirring already. 

She wanted to move on. She wanted to forget about Blake and their bad blood. She wanted to focus on getting this training over and done with because all she wanted was to take a shower and curl up with a good book.

She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be around him. She didn’t want to have his suspicious gaze follow her around, or listen to his ignorant remarks, or see his stupid face.

At least when she was surviving on her own, there wasn’t someone waiting for her to fuck up.

“Once more, okay?” Kane pressed. Reyes was sitting up now, rubbing her forehead. 

“Again?” Clarke echoed, standing up. She glanced at Kane, her expression cool. “How does this work? We keep going until the sun sets?”

Kane glanced down at the three students still on the ground. Harper and Monty both hadn’t managed to sit up yet, and Reyes was looking like she was going to get sick any second. 

“We’re going to do something different this round. You three need to get some rest. You’re not looking too good.”

Clarke’s blood froze when Kane spoke. 

_You three_ , he said. Harper, Monty and Reyes.

_Three._

_Not four._

She tilted her head to the sky. _Merlin, help me._

“We’re going to do something different,” he repeated. “There’s a lot of people here at once, and you all have taken on unofficial roles; it’ll be hard for Clarke to fit right in.” 

His gaze rested on Blake’s for a few seconds more than the others, and her dread only intensified. _Please. Don’t do what I think you’re going to do._

“We’re going to split into smaller teams for the rest of the day,” Kane determined. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ “That way, Clarke will be able to get more comfortable with the training without having to force her into a group dynamic already established, and you three can go get some food and take a Sleeping Drought.”

Clarke’s eyes flicked to Blake. He was sitting on the ground still, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted. He looked as shocked and horrified as she felt. He must’ve been thinking the exact same thing as she was.

The room fell silent as Harper, Monty, and Reyes filed out, leaving her, Blake and Kane behind. Once they left the training pitch, Kane delivered the final blow. 

“Bellamy, you’re going to partner up with Clarke.” 

_Fuck._

She knew it was coming, but that didn’t make this any better. 

Blake was just as revolted as she was. He quickly jumped to his feet, his face still twisted into shock. “But, sir-”

Kane lifted a hand and pointedly looked at him. “But _nothing,_ Blake,” he said. His tone held no room for arguing. “You think I’m stupid? You think I haven’t noticed how you’re _avoiding_ one of your teammates?”

Bellamy gawked. “What? No, I’m not, I-”

Kane pointed back onto the pitch. “Then what the hell was that?!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not stupid, Bellamy, because I have _two freaking eyeballs.”_

Clarke wanted to jump in front of a stunner just to get out of this situation.

“Did you not hear anything I said earlier? You are a team — all of you. You, Raven, Harper and Monty — sure — but _Clarke too._ You’re going to have to learn to work together sometime! What if we’re thrown into a fight tomorrow, huh? Are you ready to stand beside her? Would you know how to fight alongside her?” He shook his head. “No. You wouldn’t even know where to begin. We start here. Now.”

Bellamy scowled. “And why do I have to be partnered up with her? Why can’t we _bond_ outside of training?” He spoke with such venom that it made her blood boil. He used the word _bond_ like it was the Killing Curse.

Kane laughed. “You really think I believe you’d make the effort if I’m not here to hold your hand? Funny.” He turned more serious. “If you haven’t attempted to talk to her this week — and I’ve noticed, by the way — then do you think I’d trust that you’ll figure it out on your own? No. You wouldn’t.” He pointed out at the pitch. “You’re going to start here, because this is the easiest option for you to work together.”

Clarke was tempted to stand against Kane, but that meant standing with Blake, and that was a worse fate than being his partner.

 _You don’t need to baby me,_ she wanted to tell him. _I don’t need help making friends. I don’t need them to like me. I don’t want them to pretend to like me. You’re not helping._

When neither of them spoke, Kane clapped his hands together. “Good. It’s settled.” He breezed past them. “You two, on the field. We’re running this one more time.”

Clarke glanced at Blake. He looked gobsmacked and she was sure she looked the same.

For the first time in her life, she was left alone with Bellamy Blake. Sure, Kane was only a few yards away, but he wasn’t in the middle of their conversation anymore. In fact, he wouldn’t be able to hear her voice if she spoke.

“Nice job,” she commented dryly. His eyes snapped to hers. She never noticed how intense they were until this moment. “This is your fault, you know.”

“Me?” He raised an eyebrow. “Please tell — how is this my fault?”

“Because you don’t know how to put on an act,” she snapped. Anger was still boiling in her from earlier. She was frustrated with him, and utterly done. “You could’ve _pretended_ you don’t hate me.”

“I really couldn’t,” he responded, his voice growing more heated. “I’d have to be a professionally trained actor to do that.”

Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. “You think I like you? No, I don’t, I really don’t, but at least I don’t go around talking about it!” She gestured wildly to the pitch. “You couldn’t keep your mouth shut out there, and it’s because of your big mouth that we’re here. So, yes, this is your fault.”

“I never said I didn’t like you,” he clarified, his face sour. He scoffed. “I mean, it’s true, but I’ve never said it.” His nose was in the air. “You’re wrong. This isn’t my fault.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you never used those words, but you’ve implied it quite enough.”

He glared at her. “How?”

“ _Oooo, big scary Death Eater,”_ she mocked his voice. “ _Show me your inner arm, snake! This is all your fault because you’re pure evil.”_ She deadpanned. “Because, yeah, if I was a Death Eater, I would be wasting my time here, screwing up your training. That’s what the Dark Lord is worried about.”

“So, what?” He twirled his wand easily between his fingers. “You’re suggesting we play pretend? We play nice?”

Clarke scoffed and looked away from him. “No. We could never do that.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “But don’t be stupid. Stop speaking without a filter and maybe we won’t be in this position again.”

“Filter? You think I don’t have a filter?” He laughed. “Trust me, Princess, I’m filtering my thoughts a lot here, and-”

“Blake! Griffin!” Kane’s voice was agitated. “You ready to run this course, or what?”

Clarke turned completely away from Blake and gripped her hand in her hands. Her teeth were clenched so tightly that her jaw ached.

She was beyond frustrated —beyond angry — beyond annoyed. _She was infuriated._ Blake was going to be the death of her.

When Kane called start, she moved forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Blake moving too, but she didn’t attempt to coordinate her movements with him. _Screw him._

She turned her complete attention to the task in front of her. All she had to do was make it across the pitch. All she had to do was punch that red button. If she could do that, then she could get out of here and push Blake from her mind, hopefully for good.

Clarke rapidly fired shield after shield in front of her. The black boxes that lined the walls continuously fired bursts of magic towards them, but she couldn’t make a move to take any of them out. Even then, it was a struggle to keep up the shields.

This course wasn’t designed for one person, that was abundantly clear after the first few minutes. She had barely taken a single step in the same amount of time the group of them had moved several yards.

They really didn’t stand a chance alone.

 _Fuck._ She wasn’t going to team up with Blake, not even if he was her last chance at survival. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of her needing him. She would either do this by herself, or she’d get knocked out trying.

Clarke couldn’t focus on which of the boxes the spells were coming from. As soon as a stunner took out her shield, she was having to cast another one. Not even a second later, another burst of magic would take that one out, and shed be casting another.

And another, and another, and _dammit._

They weren’t getting anywhere. She was half tempted to just let her shields drop and walk into the line of fire, because that meant she’d get out of this at least, but she also didn’t want to give up. If she gave up, it was almost like handing a win to Blake.

It seemed her competitiveness from Quidditch had been brought to Kane’s training.

“Merlin’s sake!” Kane’s voice was heard over the constant smashes of magic against her shield. “Work together! That’s the only option!”

 _Right._ She’d do that when hell froze over. 

She had to try something other than just standing there and casting shields. She was going to have to get creative to get around this one.

Clarke cast another shield in front of her, but moved out of the way before it could shatter. She managed to take a single step forward before having to cast another shield, but at least it was progress.

_She could do this._

She could move all the way across the pitch like this. No problem. This was-

Clarke was thrown off balance when an incision was made along her bicep. Clarke hissed with pain and immediately dropped to her knee.

_What the fuck!?_

Her wand clattered to the dirt ground and she gripped the new wound with her wand hand, trying to stem the bleeding. Pain radiated up her arm, making her vision swim and her head feel light and dizzy.

_Shit, shit, shit._

The bursts of magic stopped raining down around her. She wasn’t too sure when, but Kane managed to turn off the simulation. He must’ve seen her fall.

“Shit.”

While that word had been going through her mind as a mantra, it wasn’t her who spoke it. _It was Blake._

As she continued to try and stop the blood from pouring through her fingers, he raced up to her, but hovered back a few paces. His eyes were wide and lips slightly parted, clearly horrified.

She focused on gripping the wound on her arm and tried to ignore him. She didn’t want to see his stupid face. She didn’t want to hear his snide comments, or his arrogant jokes. _Merlin,_ why did he have to rush up to her like he was a saint?

His hand twitched at his sides, but he didn’t take another step towards her. He looked concerned as he hovered. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice wobbly. She was thrown by how genuine he sounded. 

“Do I look okay!?” Clarke snapped. 

Her eyes flicked to his and her anger cane back full force from earlier. She glared at him. If he hadn’t been so annoying, they wouldn’t have had to face the course alone, and her arm wouldn’t have been cut open.

He reached up and ran his hand through his hair in distress. “It was by accident,” he told her, his eyes locking with hers. “I’m sorry-“

Her jaw clenched and she saw red. “It was you!?” White-hot anger filled her gut. “You did this to me!?” He took a step towards her, his hand outstretched. She shuffled backwards, her lip curling up. “Don’t fucking come near me, Blake.”

He was stunned, but froze. “Let me seal it at least. Stop the bleeding-”

Blake took another step towards her, and that’s when she snapped. With lightning fast reflexes, she snatched her wand back from the ground and pointed it at his chest. He froze. He looked light an animal caught under the sharp glow of a _Lumos_. He lifted his hands in surrender. 

“You cut me,” she hissed again, this time not questioning it. “What the _fuck_!?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he promised her. He took a step back, his eyes on her wand suspiciously. “I… I was going for a box!”

“Do I look like a fucking box to you!?” Her voice was becoming hysterical. Merlin, she knew he hated her, but this was next level. Logically, she knew there wouldn’t have been a point in him purposefully cutting her arm, but her emotions were overriding her mind. “I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much, but you attacked me, and-”

“I didn’t attack you,” he cut her off before she could finish. He was starting to get agitated and annoyed. “We’re training, Griffin, and I miscalculated my spell. Okay?”

She could feel warm blood running down her arm now that her free hand wasn’t pressing on it. Her fingers stuck awkwardly to her wand from the warm blood.

Blake continued talking. “Things were happening fast, there were a lot of spells, I had to do both offensive and defensive because _you_ were ignoring me, and-”

Clarke scoffed. “So, now this is my fault!?”

She didn’t wait for him to respond. She sent a stunner at the ground in front of his feet. He jumped out of the way and looked at her, a wild expression in his eye.

“Griffin-”

She didn’t want to hurt him, just get him to back off. Even though he drew blood first, she didn’t want to do the same to him. She was never about blood for blood, or an eye for an eye; that wasn’t her.

She was angry though — so bloody angry. She wanted him to back off, she wanted him to leave her alone, she wanted him to stop hating her for the war.

Blake pointed his wand at her in response to the stunner. Before he could cast a spell, she sent a disarming spell at him. He was quick though, and cast a shield before the spell could hit him. They froze for a brief moment, each of them glancing at the other.

She ground her teeth and shot another expelling charm at him. He countered it again. Blake didn’t stop there, though. Quicker than she expected, he shot a disarming spell at her in return. She had to fumble over her words to throw up a shield in time.

Once again, they froze. She must’ve looked wild; her eyes were wide, her hair messy, and her hands and arm covered in blood. He looked so intense that it almost ripped the air from her lungs.

They were on the verge of a duel. She could feel the magic crackling in the air. Anger rippled in her gut. Blake was crouched low and ready to spring. 

Her eyes narrowed. _Fuck._ This time, when she lifted her wand, she shot a stunner at him. Just as he was about to retaliate, Kane yelled for their attention.

“Woah.” Kane slowed his jog as he reached the duo. “What the _hell_ is going on?”

Clarke didn’t look away from Blake. “He fucking cut me!” she growled. She lifted her arm covered in blood as proof.

“She attacked me!” Blake snapped. He was the one to break eye contact. When he looked at Kane, the fight seemed to deflate from him and he lost the defensive stance. “It was an accident, but she rounded on me and started firing, and-”

“Enough!” Kane’s voice was harder than she ever heard it. It shocked her and her gaze swivelled to look at him. “You two…” He blew out a long and frustrated breath.

“He started it,” she blamed. Kane’s eyes were burning with frustration. “He-“

“I don’t care who started it!” He stepped between the two of them. He looked livid. “Are you children? Are you two _children!?_ This is a war, and you’re out here playing games!”

“But-“

“This is dangerous,” he said. He took a calming breath and looked at her. “You two should be working together, not against each other.”

Blake took a step forward. “My spell accidentally hit her, it wasn’t-”

“I’m not just talking about this,” Kane hissed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a long breath. “Bellamy, you’ve been at her throat all week. Blaming her of being part of the war, ignoring her, snapping at her — of course she is going to be defensive if an accident happens.” 

He glanced between them. “You’re on the same team now, whether you like it or not. It doesn’t matter what colour robes you used to wear. It doesn’t matter that you had a rivalry back at school, or that you don’t like each other, or agree with each other.”

Blake looked back at Kane, his face void of emotion. “I’ll never be on the same team as her.”

 _Merlin_ , he looked at her like she was a monster. He looked at her like she was evil, like she murdered his whole family. He never even gave her a chance; he just assumed she was like the other Slytherins he knew.

She was done. She was so fucking done. She was tired of people assuming the worst of her without getting to know her. She was tired of Blake taking out his anger of the world on her.

“It would just be appreciated if people didn’t assume I was some murdering snake, you know?” Clarke said, having reached her snapping point. She rounded on Bellamy, her blood covered finger lifted to point at him. Her hands were shaking — from the injury, from rage, from frustration — she didn’t know. “Because, oh, I don’t know, it’s not like I am here, right? I’m just here for fun, living far away from any home I’ve known, away from the life I grew up in. _Just for fun._ ” She forced a sickly sweet smile on her face. “But, no, of course I’m here to murder you all. That’s what Slytherins do, right? Because you know Slytherins so well? And you know me so well?”

She wasn’t going to feel sorry for this. Blake needed to be put in his place.

“News flash,” she hissed. “The world isn’t black and white. Gryffindors aren’t all good and brave, just like how Slytherins aren’t all evil and vile.” Her gaze hardened. “I get it, Blake, I really do — at least to an extent. We live in a world where we _have_ to look at things like they’re black and white to survive. We grew up in different worlds, and we don’t really understand each other outside of stereotypes and reputations — _I get it_. But you need to screw off or get your life together and stop taking your anger out on me.”

Nobody seemed to know what to say in reply. _She_ wasn’t even sure what to say after that.

She blew out a long breath and forced a smile onto her lips. She locked eyes with him, not shying away and not feeling apologetic in the slightest.

“Good talk,” she said breezily. “ _Really good talk.”_

She didn’t want to deal with this. Not today. Not _ever_ actually.

So, she didn’t.

Without another word, Clarke turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original plan, Clarke and Bellamy end up dueling a lot near the end of this chapter, but I prefer this and changed my plans a little bit. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 5: Practice Makes Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: coarse language, blood
> 
> This chapter is a little later than usual because I spent a lot of my scheduled writing time trying to reorganize the plot to this fic! The cut from last chapter wasn't originally planned, and that shifted Bellarke's dynamic in a different direction than I was intending, so it was a lot of small shifts to the plot in response. This chapter may seem a little choppy or frazzled because I wasn't too sure of the direction while I was writing. I still think it's readable, but just a quick explanation in case it isn't up to par with the other chapters!
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_October 18. 1997_

* * *

On Saturday morning, she had a surprising visitor.

Clarke sat on the edge of the bathtub, a wash cloth in her hand. She gently dabbed the wound along her bicep, her whole body buzzing with pain and her head foggy.

She wished that she could’ve sealed it shut, but she didn’t know which spell Blake used against her, which made mending it difficult. At least Kane had healing ointment in the cupboard in the bathroom, and that was doing the trick. It was slower than a spell, but still working.

Clarke was running the washcloth under the tap when there was a quick knock on the door. She blew out a sigh.

“Occupied,” she called. That was the worst part of having a single bathroom in the house; someone was always trying to barge in.

The person knocked again, this time harder than before. Clarke grit her teeth and glared at the door. Merlin, which one of her housemates would be at the door knocking when it was so obvious that someone was inside and _busy?_

When she didn’t answer, a third set of knocks came. Clarke had enough. With a groan, she reached forward and ripped open the door. “I said it is occu- oh.” Her words died in her mouth when she saw who was knocking on the bathroom door. 

Blake stood as stiff as a statue in the doorframe, an unreadable expression on his face.

She locked eyes with him. Her shock caused her anger to fade; she was too caught off guard to glare at him or tell him to screw off. His appearance also startled her; he looked weary, but determined.

“Hi,” he said simply. She blinked blankly at him, her mind still struggling to come up with a witty response. She’d never seen him look so human, and it really threw her. “Uh.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His eyes flicked back to hers. “Hi.”

“You said that already,” she pointed out. Clarke lifted the wet washcloth and pressed it against her bicep. The movement made him break eye contact and stare at her arm. When he didn’t move away from the door, she lifted an eyebrow. “Can I help you with something?”

He shifted on his feet. “No, actually.” He blew out a long breath. His eyes kept shifting around the room. “I, uh… I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Clarke froze and her heart flew to her throat. _What?_

She was stunned into silence. It felt like her whole body had been drenched in ice cold water, freezing her down to the bone. She could barely breathe.

What was he playing at? 

She was confused by him. She didn’t understand the purpose of him coming to check on her. Why would he pretend to care? Why would he pretend like he didn’t hate her?

 _Right._ He hated her. Her anger from the previous day came crashing back, because _this cut was from him._ He didn’t care; he was coming to check on her for another reason, probably — a more selfish reason.

Her heart clenched with anger. Clarke gripped the side of the door with the intent of slamming it in his face, but he was faster than expected. His foot darted out and he wedged it against the door, preventing her from closing it.

“Wait,” Blake said quickly. He looked determined; his eyes locked on hers without hesitation, his chin was lifted the slightest bit, his shoulders were squared. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean…” He deflated the slightest bit and rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t want to hurt you on purpose, Griffin. It was a complete accident. I wasn’t paying attention to where you were standing because I was annoyed with you, and I sent a hex over my shoulder.”

Now that blood wasn’t running down her arm and her blood wasn’t boiling, she listened to his words with a clearer mind. It made her pause.

_They made sense._

When they went into the simulation, they were both mad at each other. She pointedly ignored him on the pitch and, truth be told, she had _no_ idea where he was standing as she cast spells. Maybe he was doing the same with her? Maybe he was ignoring her, and it completely backfired on both of them?

Blake must’ve took her silence as annoyance. His expression became more desperate; his eyebrows pushed together, his eyes turned more intense. 

“Griffin, you have to believe me,” he begged. “I… I wouldn’t do that to you — not to anyone. _Really_. I know we don’t know each other well, but you have to at least know _that_ about me.”

A small smile lifted her lips. “Doesn’t feel good to be judged so harshly by someone who doesn’t really know you, hm?” She lifted her eyebrows.

At her comment, Blake grew uncomfortable. His eyes looked wide and wild and his mouth was agape. It looked like she didn’t just catch him off guard — it looked like she had punched him in the gut.

“Griffin…”

She could see this was eating him up, and she was tempted to be okay with that. She was tempted to shove the bathroom door shut and never broach the subject again.

She remembered the anger he had when she first arrived. She remembered how she felt cornered into lifting up her sleeve to prove her innocence, but even that wasn’t good enough for him. She remembered him waiting around for her to screw up, just so she could be sent out of the safe house. She remembered how her arm stung from his sloppy spellwork.

 _She also remembered his eyes._ She remembered how he looked when she fell to the ground with a grunt — how shocked and desperate and horrified he looked. She remembered how his first instinct was to rush forward to help her, even though he couldn’t stand her, even though he must’ve known how she would react when she learned the spell came from his wand.

She also remembered how broken he looked when their peer from Hogwarts was murdered, when Diggory was laying dead in the grass. She remembered how he abandoned the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw when Katie Bell was knocked from her broom and she was laying in the dirt, unmoving. He was desperate and scared. 

He didn’t like seeing people hurt. Even though she detested him, she knew this was true; she knew that he never liked seeing people in pain. She couldn’t imagine the same man from the Quidditch field would try to cut her on purpose.

 _‘You’re on the same team now, whether you like it or not,’_ Kane told them yesterday. He wanted them to work together. He wanted them to put their past behind them and move on.

While she wasn’t exactly ready to forgive and forget everything, she was ready to forget this incident. She was ready to move on, just for the sake of moving on. This was awkward. Talking to Blake was awkward. _Him knocking on the bathroom door to ask if she was okay was awkward._

Moving on would at least stop that. It would stop him from looking at her with concern, it would stop him from pretending to care. Things would go back to normal.

_She needed normal._

Clarke blew out a long breath and moved back into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open for Blake. She slouched down onto the side of the bathtub and looked at him. He was confused and hovered in the doorway.

“What spell did you use?” she prompted.

Blake took that as his invitation. He stepped over the threshold, narrowing the distance between them. At best, there was three feet of space separating them, and it made her feel dizzy. She was so used to avoiding him and running away; this was something new.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” he responded. 

He kicked the bathroom door shut part way with his foot. Clarke tried to ignore how her throat tightened and her spine prickled from being in an enclosed space with him. It felt more friendly than she ever wanted to be with him.

“Okay.” Clarke eyed the piece of wood poking out from his wand pocket. “How good are you at healing charms?”

His lips parted slightly in surprise. “I- What?”

She gestured to his wand. “How good are you at healing charms? You have your wand, I left mine in my room.” She pointed at the cut along her bicep. “I kind of want this sealed.”

Blake was stunned into silence.

She lifted an eyebrow. “I mean, I could do it myself, but…” 

_But I thought it might make you feel better to help,_ she thought. 

Just yesterday, he was offering to help seal the wound, and she thought that her letting him would end this awkwardness between them. She thought that, if he helped her, he wouldn’t feel guilty anymore, and he’d let both of them move on. Without that guilt, he wouldn’t try to make it up to her, and they could continue like normal.

“No,” he said quickly. He moved forward before she could change her mind, his wand slipping into his hand. “I can do it. I want to do it.”

She smiled to herself. Despite their bad blood, she understood him well enough to know that was what he was going to say. He was feeling guilty for what happened.

Clarke shifted so her bicep was turned towards him. He hesitated for a moment longer, before he took a final step in her direction, completely closing the gap between them. If he rock forward an inch, his leg would brush against her bent knee.

She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, desperate to put _some_ space between her and Blake. They’d never been in a position like this before, and it was unnerving.

He leaned forward, his eyes resting at her shoulder-level. She could feel his breaths ghosting along her skin and she could smell his shampoo from his hair. 

Without meaning to, she adjusted her position so she could see his face. She could feel his body heat, she could feel his breath, she could see the freckles dotted along his cheeks.

Clarke closed her eyes and tilted her head away again. She couldn’t recall a time in her life that she was physically this close to someone else. She never imagined that she’d been in this position with Bellamy Blake, of all people.

_The most unnerving part of it was the fact that she didn’t exactly hate it._

There was a sharp tug on her bicep and she let out a soft hiss. She knew the dull pain was from the skin meshing back together from whatever incantation Blake just performed, but that didn’t stop her from wincing away.

She could feel his eyes on her face. “You good, Griffin?”

She bit her lip and gave a small nod. “Good.”

He straightened up and took a half-step away from her. “I’m done. Should be as good as new.” He put more distance between them and she glanced down at her healed skin. Where there was a wide gash before was now replaced by angry red skin. As she examined his work, Blake stowed his wand and shifted awkwardly. “Listen…”

She glanced up at him. “Don’t,” she told him quickly. She didn’t want things to become more awkward by him asking for forgiveness again. She wasn’t exactly ready to give it, but saying that out loud would only cause problems. “Thanks for your help.”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he sent her a sharp nod. She turned her attention back to her arm and he used the opportunity to slip out of the bathroom. As he retreated, she watched his back.

This interaction was different and it terrified her. She didn’t know what to make of him coming to find her. She’d never seen him look at her with anything other than hostility.

She blew out a long breath and closed her eyes. Maybe he was different than she thought.

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

___October 24, 1997_

“That’s enough!” Kane’s voice boomed. He froze, even though he didn’t drop his wand. He saw do Griffin the same – her wand still pointed at the walls of the training room, even though she wasn’t firing any spells from it. “Good work, everyone.”

Raven, Harper, and Monty all stood off to the side beside Kane, the group of them standing to watch him and Clarke run the simulation only a week after he cut her arm. 

_God,_ a week could change everything.

This time last Friday, he was ready to stun himself. He didn’t want to work with her. He didn’t want to spend time with her, or bond with her, or have anything to do with her. While he wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance at those things still, it was different. They weren’t as hostile, and it was almost... _nice_.

It was strange to think. While they hadn’t spoken since Saturday in the bathroom, he hadn’t been exactly avoiding her either – not like the previous week anyways. They were in a strange place, and it was fairly obvious neither of them knew what to do next.

Training this week went better too. They were choppy, and they still hadn’t figured out how to work together exactly, but at least there wasn’t any blood or stunners. That was always a start.

“Bellamy, Clarke – you two stay here. Everyone else, you’re dismissed.”

Bellamy suppressed a groan. _Of course._ Of course Kane was going to lecture them again – for what this time, he wasn’t sure. He loved his mentor, but this was overkill. 

Kane called out to the group again as they started to file out. “Remember, no training for the next two weeks because I’m out of town with the Ministry.”

As soon as they were alone on the pitch, he turned to them. “I wanted to check in on you two,” Kane said Bellamy glanced at Clarke out of the corner of her eye and watched her carefully. “Have you two worked on your differences within the last week?” When Kane glanced at him, Bellamy could’ve sworn he was looking into his soul. It was unnerving how intense his mentor was. They locked eyes. 

“Sure,” Bellamy answered dismissively. If he was being honest, _no_ , they didn’t work out their differences. They just pushed them to the side.

That was the same, wasn’t it? 

Kane didn’t look impressed. “Tell me… Did you even _try?_ ”

“Define try,” he replied dryly.

That must’ve been the wrong answer. Kane pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you two even _talk_?” he pressed. He turned his gaze to Griffin and Bellamy knew they were screwed. She cracked easily under pressure.

She bit her lip. She seemed to do that when she was nervous. “No,” she admitted after a long moment. “We haven’t spoken since last week.”

“Nice, Griffin,” Bellamy groaned. 

“What the hell do you two do all day?” Kane’s facial expression softened as he looked at Clarke. “Tell me _someone_ talks to you? You don’t just sit in your room all day?”

She shrugged. “They’re nice enough.”

“I thought you told me you’ve been integrating well?”

Griffin shifted uneasily. With a shock, Bellamy realized that she was clearly nervous about this conversation – he could tell from her shifting posture, to her lip biting, to her darting eyes.

A flash of guilt went through him. Maybe he should’ve just told a white lie about her staying in her room. She had to be lying to Kane for a reason, right?

(Exactly. She _shouldn’t_ be lying.)

“It’s been going well enough,” she insisted slowly.

“But you’ve been hiding in your room?” he pressed.

Bellamy was talking before he could think about it. “I wouldn’t say _hiding,_ ” he corrected. He glanced at her out of the side of his eye. She looked shocked at his interjection. “She’s just been… distant.”

Kane turned his attention to him. “You haven’t been talking to Clarke?”

“To be fair, I haven’t been talking to him either,” Griffin spoke up. Bellamy felt just as shocked at her input as she must’ve been with his.

Kane blew out a long breath of air. “Okay, you two need to figure out a way where you can work together.” He gestured to the empty gymnasium behind him. “This was better than last week; loads better, actually. But you’re also too compartmentalized. You’re only focusing on how to get _yourself_ to the other end of the pitch; not the full team.”

Neither of them spoke up. Bellamy knew what Kane said was the truth.

“I hope you two realize that what I’m trying to do is for the best – for both of you,” Kane said after a moment. “What happens in here doesn’t _actually_ matter out there. You two know it best of all – we’re living in a bubble right now. This is only practice for the real world – for the real war.” Bellamy locked his jaw at the mention of the brewing war outside these four walls. “We need to be ready. If you can’t trust each other in here, how will you be able to fight beside each other out there, where it really matters?”

Griffin smirked. “I doubt I'll be fighting beside him outside of this bubble, Kane, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Bellamy didn’t know what she meant, but he felt a flash of hurt go through him. He expected relief, not hurt. If she didn’t plan on fighting beside him, they wouldn’t have to waste their time acting civil to each other like Kane wanted.

The tiny voice in his head screamed at him. _If she isn’t fighting beside you, who is she fighting beside?_

He tried to ignore it.

“Come on, Clarke,” he groaned. “We don’t get to pick who our allies are. _This is the real world._ This was war.” Even though Kane interpreted her words to mean that she wouldn’t fight with him, he had a different meaning. He felt as if she was trying to say she wasn’t going to fight _at all._ “You two didn’t get along in school? You two were rivals on the Quidditch pitch? You didn’t like him? Too bad. He’s all you get.” 

He turned to him. “Same goes for you, Bellamy. I don’t know what happened between you two in school and, frankly, I don’t want to know. None of that matters anymore because _she is all you get._ ” He glanced at both of them again. “I said this last week, and I’ll say it again. You two are on the same team now. This isn’t about Gryffindors and Slytherins, this isn’t about who won the Quidditch cup, or who put laxatives in who’s food, and who started what. This is about something bigger than all of that.

“You’re going to have to set your differences aside and try to work together. Who knows, you might end up realizing that you two actually have a lot in common.” Bellamy snorted. _Not likely_. The only thing they had in common was the fact they had nothing in common. “You never know until you know.” 

“But-”

“No,” Kane interrupted Bellamy before he could speak. “I understand not particularly liking the person you’re stuck with – I’ve had my fair share of teams that I didn’t exactly get along with. But, you know what we did? We sucked it up. I realized that there might be people counting on us to get along. There might be someone out there that could use our help, and by us dicking around, we could be preventing that.” 

His gaze was pointed. “When you two are out there in the real world, something might happen. You’ll _need_ to work together, and if you don’t figure it out now, while you two are safe, then you might be in big trouble. If you don’t learn how to work together now, then your reservations might be the thing that kills either one of you, or one of your other teammates.”

 _That_ hit Bellamy hard. His throat grew tight and his heart constrained painfully in his chest. Losing his family was one of his greatest fears.

“Promise me that you’ll try these next two weeks that I’m gone?” he pressed. “At least _try_ to figure something out between the two of you. You don’t have to be friends and you don’t have to like each other, but you need to be able to work together when the time calls for it.”

Bellamy swallowed thickly and gave a tiny nod.

 _For his friends._ He would try to get along with Griffin to keep his family safe.

Kane didn’t look away from Griffin. “Try to come out of your room more often, hey? I know it can be difficult – with all of the changes happening in your life, but we’re here for you.”

Bellamy had no idea what Kane was talking about, but Griffin seemed to understand. She nodded her head slowly and tightened her grip on her wand.

 _Changes._ What kind of changes was she going through? It stunned him to realize he’d been living with her for three weeks, but he didn’t know the first thing about her.

Her words from the previous week came back to him. _‘That’s what Slytherins do, right? Because you know Slytherins so well? And you know me so well?’_

No. She was right with that sarcastic comment. He didn’t know her so well. He didn’t know her beyond the green on the robes, and beyond Quidditch, and beyond who her family was. He didn’t truly know who she was beyond reputations.

Satisfied with their conversation, Kane nodded. “Alright. You two are free to go. Get along these next few weeks, okay? Try to work out a deal so you’re able to fire in the _same direction._ That’s all I ask. Easy enough?”

_Yeah. Sure._

With Griffin, getting along was always easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while half asleep if you couldn’t tell! whoops. 
> 
> Next update will be on Sunday.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Paw


	7. Chapter 6: Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of update yesterday! Life got in the way.
> 
> Warnings: coarse language (note about this one: I’m going to stop putting this as a warning so just assume it is for every chapter!)
> 
> Enjoy

**_CLARKE_ **

_October 27, 1997_

* * *

October 27th marked two and a half weeks since Clarke arrived at Kane’s safe house. It also marked the day that Kane was leaving for two weeks, which left an uneasy feeling in her stomach.

She knew, logically, Kane wasn’t the only reason they were all safe. They were kept safe from the wards that were in place – all of which would stay standing, even when he was gone. She knew this house wasn’t only _his_ creation – it was an Order of the Phoenix safe house that he just happened to manage – it was part of a network of houses across Britain keeping witches and wizards safe.

 _Still._ She couldn’t get the terrible feeling off her mind. It felt like a dark cloud looming over her head. She could feel something bad was going to happen – she could feel it in her bones.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised her on Sunday night. He looked relaxed as he flipped through a charms book. “I’ve done this a dozen times before. You kids will be alright.”

She wasn’t too sure about that.

On Monday morning, she stood with the other students to wave him off. Harper and Monty were pressed together, both still half asleep. It was a stark contrast to Blake and Reyes, both of whom hung close to Kane at the doorway.

Clarke wasn’t too sure what to do. She cared about Kane – of course she did, he was the one to take her in when she was starting to lose hope – but she wasn’t as close to him as the other four were. While she didn’t know exactly when they came to his safe house, she knew they’d been there for months.

Reyes looked nervous. She hovered by his side, her lip between her teeth. She could tell Blake was worried too, but he hid it better. His hands were buried deep in his pockets and his expression was blank.

 _He was hiding it._ He was trying to hide how terrified he was.

Clarke watched as Kane turned to Blake and mumbled something to him. He was the eldest in the house out of the students, and it looked like Kane was passing on a few last minute words of advice.

Her interest piqued when shock crossed Blake’s expression. It was there only for a second before a mask fell over his features again, but it was enough to make her question what exactly was going on.

When Blake gave him a solid nod, Kane turned to the rest of the group.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks,” he promised them. “While I’m gone, nobody is to leave the house. Is that clear?” They each gave a tiny nod. “There should be enough food for the next _three_ weeks, but, in case something unpredictable happens, contact Kingsley. The floo network is to remain locked, alright? I know it might be tempting to unlock it, even for a second, but that’s risky.”

“We know,” Reyes said quickly. “These are all rules for when you’re here anyways. Nothing different.”

He nodded. “Right. Stick to the rules. No leaving the house, no unlocking the floo, no dropping the wards, no opening the door. If someone comes to the door and claims they’re from the Order, you-”

“Ask for the code word and ask them to prove their identity,” Monty finished. “Got it.”

“Take turns doing the cooking and the chores, alright?” His eyes swept to Bellamy and back to Clarke. “Don’t kill each other, either. Please. I’m sure there’d be a lot of paperwork with that.” She snorted. “Bellamy’s in charge, so listen to him. If there’s something you can’t fix by yourselves, find your way to Kingsley’s.”

Blake clapped Kane on the shoulder. “We know. You’ve talked about this for weeks. We’ll be fine. Have a good trip.”

Kane blew out a breath and rolled his eyes. “Blake, I don’t think you realize what exactly is involved with travelling for work at the Ministry. There’s nothing fun about this.” He glanced down at his muggle watch and pursed his lips. “Alright. I need to head out. Stay safe.”

“You too.” Blake moved forward and pulled the mentor in for a hug. Reyes was next to embrace him, and then he was gone. When the front door shut, the house felt emptier. It felt more foreboding.

Clarke shifted on her feet and swallowed thickly. She couldn’t get over the feeling that something awful was going to happen, and she couldn’t help but hope Kane would return like he promised in two weeks.

Maybe she was being overdramatic, but this was the world she grew up in. People in her life didn’t always come back, especially within the last few years. People were killed for less than what Kane was doing, by running a secret safe house that kept fugitive children safe.

“He’ll be fine,” Harper promised her. She must’ve noticed how worried she was. “He’s done this before. Kane comes back. He always does.”

 _Nothing was a promise in the world they lived in._ Nobody could promise safe returns or tomorrows.

The only thing that was truly promised was change and death.

Clarke didn’t tell her that.

“I think I’m going to head back to sleep,” she said. Maybe when she woke up, she’d feel better about the whole situation. Maybe sleep would numb her worries.

“Good idea,” Reyes said. Her voice shook as she spoke. She must’ve been more worried than she let on. “See you all in a few hours for lunch?”

Blake forced a smile on his face. “Skipping breakfast? What about your rule of this being the most important meal of the day?”

Reyes breezed past him. “When I wake up, lunch _will_ be my breakfast,” she reasoned. She paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face Clarke. “Griffin, you coming?”

The two of them made their way back up to their shared room. While it had almost been three weeks of living in the house, this was the first time they went up to their room together. Reyes usually had a different schedule than her.

As they walked, Clarke spoke of the thoughts on her mind. “Kane told us to go to Kingsley if we’re in trouble. Who’s that?”

“He’s an Order member – he’s been in the organization for years,” she said. The older girl glanced at Clarke uneasily. “He works at the Ministry, too, although Kane’s not too sure how much longer that will last. We’re all surprised more of the Order members haven’t been caught yet.”

“There’s a lot of Order members out there then?” Clarke wondered out loud.

If she was being honest, she didn’t know too much about the organization that ran the safe house she stayed at. All she knew was from what Professor McGonagall told her – it was a group of people that Dumbledore had gathered in response to the Dark Lord’s first reign, and it’d been brought back to life over the last few years.

“It’s hard to say,” she said after a moment. “I’m not a member, so I don’t know who’s apart of it. I don’t even think Kane knows everyone apart of it.” Reyes glanced at her uneasily again.

Clarke gave her a hard look. “If you’re wondering why I’m asking, it’s purely out of curiosity,” she promised, her voice harder than before. “I won’t tell anyone. It’s not even like I have anyone to tell. The only people that know I’m alive are you five.”

Reyes looked away and chose not to comment on what she said.

“What happens if the safe house is breached?” Clarke wondered out loud. “You guys have a plan for that, right?”

“We do.” She pushed open their room door and flopped backwards onto her own bed before she continued to speak. “We run. We go. That’s the plan.”

She sat down on the edge of her own bed and frowned. “That’s not exactly a great plan.”

“If something happens, we’re supposed to get out however we can,” she said. “When we’re sure we’re not being followed, we make our way to the next safe house. I don’t know about the other’s, but Bellamy and I are set to move to the next safe house together if something happens.”

Clarke chewed on her lip. She didn’t know this plan, never mind if she had a second safe house to go to in case something happened here. She couldn’t help but wonder if the Order planned to keep her in the safe houses for long. If they didn’t tell her the next location she’d be moving too, then that had to mean something, right?

“Ask Kane when he’s back,” Reyes said after a long moment. Clarke realized that she’d been staring at her, and she must’ve understood where her thoughts were. “I didn’t know mine until Harper and Monty arrived from a previous safe house. I asked Kane about it, and we developed this plan. He probably is just waiting to see who will take you.”

Clarke sighed and pushed herself under the blankets. She stared blankly at the ceiling. “Right,” she echoed emptily. “I’m sure it’ll be hard to find a place to send me. Not too many people are accepting of those from my house or my family.”

Reyes was silent. “I’m sure it’ll work out. Kane accepted you without knowing you. I’m sure there are others like him.”

She turned to her side, turning her back to Reyes. She didn’t want her to see her expression, as it would be a dead give away of the lie she was about to tell.

“I’m sure,” she said.

In reality, she’d never been more unsure about anything in her life.

* * *

_October 28, 1997_

* * *

“What are you reading?”

Clarke was lounging on the armchair, a worn book in her hands. The other four occupants of the house were scattered throughout the room, and it almost felt normal. In reality, this was the first time they were all in the same room together, outside of training and meals.

She usually liked to spend the evenings in her room or the library, away from the others. She didn’t like being surrounded by them because she could always feel their eyes on her. They were waiting for her to make a mistake, or for her to snap, or for _something._ It was exhausting, having to make sure she was perfect for them.

This was the first night without Kane in the house though, and she still hadn’t got rid of the gnawing sense of fright in her. Her need to be around people outweighed her worry of them watching her, and she joined them in the living area. She was thankful none of them batted an eye when she did.

She flipped to the front cover and showed it to Monty, who was asking about her book. “It’s a prep book for my N.E.W.T. exams. I’d be writing them this year if, well, y’know….”

He smiled at her. “I’d be too.” He turned his body to face her more, abandoning his game of wizard’s chess with Harper. “It’s strange to think about, isn’t it? How we should be at Hogwarts right now, prepping for the biggest exams of our lives? We should be counting down the hours until the Halloween feast.”

Blake glanced up from the book he was reading, an amused expression on his face. “If you’re worried about missing the feast, we’ll have one here.”

Reyes fixed him with a hard look. “You’re missing the point,” she told him.

The amusement faded. “I know,” he sighed. “I was just trying to joke.” He blew out a long breath. “I’m well aware Monty’s biggest concerns aren’t with missing the feast.”

“Why are you still studying?” Harper wondered out loud, shifting the heat off Blake. She twirled a chess piece between her fingers as she eyed Clarke’s textbook. “If you’re not at Hogwarts, you can’t take these exams.”

“I know,” she said slowly. She closed her book and set it to the side. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I’m not ready to give up completely on my N.E.W.T. exams. It’s easier to keep studying for them because, at least that way, I get to pretend things are normal.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt uneasy. She didn’t know why she was being so open, and it scared her. She learned the hard way to keep her mouth shut and to never give people information that they didn’t need.

She didn’t have to think too long on that. Harper’s face lit up with joy and she inched forward. “You know, I don’t really know you too well, and you’ve been here for three weeks already. We should change that.”

Clarke felt her heart drop. “What?”

Harper was more convinced than before. “It’s settled,” she decided. “We’re going to play a game to get to know each other better. It’s only fair.”

Blake fixed her with a confused look. “What’s fair about that?”

“It’s fair that we know _something_ about each other, since we’re training to fight together,” she continued. She poked Monty in the arm. “Right? This is good.”

The man beside her looked a little wary, but spoke anyways. “Kane _is_ always telling us to bond. That’s lesson number five from training – teamwork.”

“Good point,” Harper told him, her face growing more excited. She glanced around at the other three, who were all still unsure. “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!”

Reyes was the first to crack. “What game are you thinking?”

“Truth or dare?”

The older girl groaned. “Really? No. Pick something else, please.”

Blake still looked unsure. “I don’t know…”

Clarke was lost in the conversation. What was truth or dare? It was a game, apparently, but she never heard of it before. It must be muggle then, which made sense, considering Harper was a muggle-born witch. It sounded terrifying though.

“Bellamy, what is there to lose?” she pressed. “Let’s just do truth or truth then, alright? No dares.” Reyes didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

Clarke did. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said suddenly. “Truth or truth? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Blake looked shocked at her admission. She glanced around at the others and realized none of them seemed as confused as she felt. _Great,_ she thought. _It was only her that didn’t know what was happening._ That made her feel even worse about it.

“The game is usually called truth or dare,” Monty explained. “You pick one or the other when it’s your turn. If you pick truth, you have to answer whatever question the other person asks you. If you pick dare, you have to do whatever the person asks you to do.” She was right. This game sounded like shit. “Make sense?”

“So, for truth or truth, I just… pick… truth?”

Harper beamed. “See? You get it!”

Clarke really didn’t. She couldn’t see a point in offering two options, if they were both the exact same thing.

She understood the reasoning behind Harper wanting to play this game though. She was right – she barely knew anything about the people she was living with. All she really knew were the rumors.

Harper was a muggleborn. Clarke knew why she was at the safe house; she would’ve been hunted and killed if she returned to school, and, with Monty being in a relationship with her, he was in danger too. It was smart that they both left; she knew how Death Eaters operated – even if Harper had disappeared, they would’ve used Monty to get to her.

Raven graduated the year earlier, but Clarke heard through gossip why she went into hiding. She was a half-blood, and she was targeted at her job at the Prophet. Instead of slip away like other muggleborns and half-bloods were doing, she participated in a protest, burned a bunch of papers, and escaped. She’d been on the run ever since.

 _Blake…_ Blake was an entity. She didn’t know much about him, other than that he had a younger sister, that he was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and that he was a half-blood. Outside of that, she didn’t know _anything_ about him.

She wanted to know more about all of them. Harper was right, and Kane was right, too; they were training together and living together. Even though she hoped she never had to go into battle, wasn’t it important that she knew who she was living with?

On the other hand, she was worried about revealing too much information about herself through this game. The more information people knew about her, the more of an advantage they had. If they knew nothing, they couldn’t hurt her, and she’d be safe. Her isolation was a protection.

 _Then again, she wanted them to know her better._ She could feel it deep in her – she wanted them to know who she was. She didn’t want them to look at her in distrust. She didn’t want them to keep wondering if she was here for the right reasons, or if she was going to snap and use dark magic, or if she was just going to betray them.

Giving up a little bit of control would help with that. Telling them about her would make them trust her more, and she _wanted_ that, if only so she wouldn’t be judged so quickly.

“Alright,” she agreed slowly. “I’ll play.”

Reyes turned lazily to Blake. “Bellamy, you in?”

He looked disinterested, but shrugged anyways. “Sure, I guess.”

“Good,” Harper cheered. She turned to Clarke and started off the evening with a tame question. “Clarke, what is your favourite candy from Honeydukes?”

Clarke smiled at the girl. She was sweet and it seemed like she actually wanted to get to know her. “Sugar quills.”

Harper’s face broke out into a grin. “Mine too.” She eyed Monty, her expression teasing. “His is weird.”

He playfully bumped shoulders with his girlfriend. “It’s not. You just don’t give it a chance.”

She hummed. “For good reason.” She turned back to Clarke, a playful grin on her lips. “He like the Algae Crush.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

“I’d never joke about something as serious as candy,” Monty promised her, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s underappreciated.”

“It’s disgusting,” Blake cut in, his expression as disgusted as Clarke’s. “Should be illegal for all I care.”

Monty let out a loud laugh at that. “Like yours is any better.” Without waiting for further prompting, he spoke. “He likes Snack-O-Choc. Who would want to eat chocolate that’s spicy?”

“Hey,” Blake warmed, his finger lifted in his direction teasingly. “It’s delicious.” She could see the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a smile.

“Good, that was easy, right?” Harper questioned. Clarke nodded. “Since I started by asking you a question, you can ask anyone a question.”

She tilted her head towards Monty, letting him know this question was for him. “What pet did you have at Hogwarts?”

“An owl,” he said. “It was the easy choice. Cats and toads are nice, but not very practical. Owning an owl means not having to use the school owlery, and it also means mail is available in the summer.”

Harper beamed at him. “This is why he’s top of our year.” Monty blushed. “You’re turn, Mont.”

Monty turned to Reyes. “Raven. Favourite shop at Hogsmeade?”

“Quality Quidditch Supplies. Easy.” She didn’t need to wait for Harper to prompt her. “Griffin. Favourite colour?”

“Green.”

Her lips twitched upwards. “Could’ve called that one, with your house and all.”

 _Oh._ Clarke pursed her lips and shifted under her gaze. “It’s actually from the forest,” she corrected slowly. “Not because of Slytherin’s colours.” She turned back to Harper. “What is your favourite holiday?”

“Ooo,” she cooed. “Christmas, no question about it. The castle is always warm, people are always so joyful, the music is catchy and just makes you smile. I’m always surrounded by friends and family, and the peacefulness is something we don’t get at any other holiday.”

The group traded questions for a while. Ten minutes into their game, Clarke started to relax. She was sure that this game was suggested so that they could grill her or ask questions to dig into her past. Luckily, they were all surface level questions, and that put her at ease.

“Bellamy, you’ve been quiet,” Monty commented after a while. “What’s your dream career?”

“Hogwarts professor,” he answered without hesitation, a smile tugging at his lips.

Clarke watched closely. It was amazing; by simply talking about his dreams, he couldn’t help but smile. She’d never seen him so at ease before. It was nice. _Different_.

He turned to her. “Griffin,” he said, grabbing her attention. Her heart stopped. _This wasn’t good._ She was expecting to ask her something deeply personal or offensive, but he surprised her. “What’s your favourite childhood memory?”

She closed her eyes and thought back to before Hogwarts, to when things were simple. “It was Sunday shopping at Diagon Alley,” she said. The memory had come rushing back to her easily. As she spoke, she could almost feel the sun beating down on her, and she could hear the bustle of the crowds doing their shopping. “It was summer. I was at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour with my mom.” She cracked her eye open. “This was… this was before I knew what was going on with the world. It was during the time that everyone vowed _never again,_ and nobody spoke of it.” She was getting off topic, but she felt like she needed to give that disclaimer about her favourite memory. The woman in the memory wasn’t the same woman she knew today.

“I don’t know why this particular day was my favourite,” she said after a moment. “Nothing special happened, but I just… I remember feeling warm and safe and happy. I remember wishing for a thousand more of those days; just spending it with my mother, eating ice cream for lunch, not caring about anything else.” Clarke shrugged off any sentiment that came with the memory. “That was a long time ago. Things are different now.”

The room stayed silent. She wasn’t too sure what Blake was looking for when he asked that question, but he looked bewildered.

“What about you, Blake? Favourite memory?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Favourite memory in general, or favourite _childhood_ memory?”

“In general.”

He leaned back in his seat. His forehead creased with thought. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s like you said, I don’t know _why_ a certain memory jumps out at me, but it just does. It isn’t special…” He blew out a long breath. “I think it would be spending a day during the Christmas break by the lake. I was there with my sister and a few friends, and it was… it was nice. Simple and nice.” As he spoke, he looked more and more comfortable. “We smuggled butterbeers from Hogsmeade, and we had a dozen blankets, and we kept using warming charms _over and over_ just so we could stay out a little longer.

“O convinced her boyfriend to go skating,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “He’s pureblood and didn’t know what that even meant, so she had fun teaching him. They spent more time on their asses than standing upright.”

Almost like he realized he got carried away by the memory, he glanced up and locked eyes with Clarke. The pensive expression faded. “Although, the day when Gryffindor beat Slytherin for the Quidditch cup is also up there.”

Clarke knew that if he made this comment before, she would’ve cursed his name and threw a stunner in his direction. Now, she only felt mildly amused.

“You were always a pain in my ass, Blake,” she said, her voice lighter than her words.

He smirked. “Glad to know we’re in agreement on something.” She snorted.

 _She was right_. This was different. 

As the group continued to trade questions, she couldn’t take her eyes off of Blake. Something was different with him, and it was making her stomach twist.

She’d never seen him so open before. She didn’t even know he was capable of it. She was so used to him looking at her like she was a monster, or like she was going to light fire to the safe house, but _this was new._ He was asking her questions like he didn’t hate her. He was joking with her about Quidditch and – even more surprisingly – she didn’t feel her blood boil at that.

Clarke couldn’t put her finger on what changed or when it changed, but _it had_ . The way he looked at her and spoke to her was _different_ . The way she felt more comfortable around him was _different_. There was no other way to explain it. 

She still didn’t trust him. She doubted that she ever would. It was the same for him, too; she didn’t think he could ever trust her.

But they were civil, and that small step threw her.

Blake finished talking about his ideal hot beverage before he turned back to her. “Griffin. This game is mainly to get to know who you are, right?” She shrugged. “Right. So, question for you. Can you see thestrals?”

The air left her lungs at this question. Thestrals were creatures in the wizarding world that could only be seen by people who had witnessed death. Most witches and wizards never got to see this magical creature, having never witnessed a death, but she hadn’t been spared that.

“Bellamy,” Reyes snapped, her eyes flashing. “That’s too personal.”

Clarke forced a smile onto her face. “No, it’s fine. He’s right; this is so you get to know me. You aren’t learning much about me through favourite colours and favourite sweets.” She steeled herself and locked eyes with Blake. “Yes, I can see them.” Her voice wavered without permission. She swallowed thickly and kept her eyes on his face. He didn’t look too surprised by her admission. “Before you request a follow up question, it was my dad.”

The room fell silent and the air turned heavy at that. She never looked away from Blake, but she could see Harper shifting uneasily out of the corner of her eye.

“I was young. I don’t remember it.” She tried to keep her voice even despite the raging storm in her. “It was during the first war, though. My mom always told me he was a traitor, and that he was murdered in our home for it.”

“Fuck,” Reyes breathed. She inched forward, dropping her legs to the ground and straightening up. All traces of joking and teasing had disappeared from her face. “Clarke, I’m…”

“It was a long time ago,” she promised her. It was always strange when people got more emotional over his death than she did. It was so long ago and she didn’t truly know the man, yet people felt the need to apologize to her for his death. _They weren’t the ones that killed him,_ so why did they need to apologize? “I don’t know the details of what happened, but…”

“You were a baby?” Monty questioned, moving forward. He must’ve already added up the dates in his head. “And you were at home during the first war. Why… Why would your parents have no wards in their house if they were living there?”

Clarke bit her lip and glanced at the ceiling. This was the part of her past that she didn’t like to think about, never mind _talk_ about – especially not to people that were practically strangers.

“You don’t have to tell us,” Reyes interrupted. She gave a hard look to Monty. “You answered your question. It’s your turn to ask someone something.”

She appreciated the effort, but she wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “It’s fine,” she insisted. Clarke glanced back at Monty and forced an easy expression onto her face. “Our families are from different ends of history,” she told him. “I was told my dad was a traitor, but that was because he betrayed my mother’s cause. He believed in your family’s cause.” She wasn’t even sure if she was making sense at this point, but she kept talking. “It was his cooperation that several Death Eaters were tracked down after the war, and nobody took kindly to that.”

Monty inched forward. “Wait… You dad was a Death Eater?”

Clarke pressed her fingers to her forehead. This conversation was not going where she wanted it to. “He wasn’t. He… He never believed in that stuff. My mother on the other hand, she believed in that shit and followed the black robes without a second thought.”

Just talking about it made her feel like she was going to get sick. She was hoping this game was going to get them to trust her more, but she was just confirming the rumours that her family was one that had been followers of the Dark Lord for years.

“After the war finished, he gave up information that he overheard through my mother. It resulted in a lot of arrests – a lot of lives saved – but he gave his life for that.” She locked eyes with Monty. “They had wards on the manor. They were _mysteriously_ dropped moments before masked Death Eaters stormed the house and murdered him.”

Monty looked shocked. He connected the dots with what she was saying quickly. “Your mother?”

Clarke shrugged. “I don’t know. I never even found out how my father was murdered until a few years ago, when I read about it in the archived Prophet issues at the library. I guess the fact my mother never told me the details all but confirms her involvement with his death.”

She felt sick. Why was she telling these people this? They barely trusted her as it was – why did she need to tell them that her mother betrayed her father? Why did she need to tell them that her family had been following the Dark Lord and been involved with dark magic for generations?

 _Stupid._ It was a stupid move.

The room was heavy and silent when Clarke pushed out of her chair. She intended to walk to the glass cabinet at the side of the room and pour herself a glass of firewhiskey, but she froze mid-step when Blake stood too.

“Don’t go,” he told her, his eyes wide. “We… I…”

She was stunned by the vulnerability on his features, and by the fact _he_ was the one asking her to stay. Out of everyone, she expected him to be the first to tell her to leave. She expected him to be the first to tell the rest of the group ‘I told you so.’

Clarke dumbly pointed to the liquor cabinet. “Firewhiskey,” she said, her mind refusing to come up with a full sentence.

His expression faltered. “Oh.” He took a step backwards. “Yeah. Shit. My bad.” He sunk back to his seat, his expression unreadable.

As she made her way over to the cabinet of firewhiskey, Reyes spoke. “I know it is your turn to ask a question, but-”

“Ask away,” she mumbled.

She tried to numb the emotions buzzing around her mind; fear of being even more mistrusted, fear of opening up too much to people that could hurt her, fear of her past.

She also tried to ignore her confusion surrounding Blake – how concerned he looked when he thought she was running away, the way he spoke to her like she was someone other than his Hogwarts rival, the fact he wasn’t scolding her or being an ass to her.

“No, I don’t have a question,” Reyes corrected. “I was just going to say how fucked up that is.”

Clarke lifted her partially filled glass in her direction. “Thank you,” she said dryly.

“No… I just… I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s hard, really hard. I’m sorry you have to live with that.”

Her father’s death and her mother’s involvement was not in the top five of the most fucked up things that happened in her life, but she appreciated the sentiment.

“My turn to ask a question?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. At the nods of several people around the room, she spoke, “Blake, tell me about your family.”

He looked startled. “My – My _what?_ ”

“Your family,” she repeated, sitting back down across from him. “I’m just curious. I know your sister’s in the year below me, but that’s about as much as I know about you.” He looked uncomfortable, so she kept talking. “I can ask you something else, if you like? I just-”

“No,” he cut her off. “I’m just surprised you knew I had a sister.” Clarke merely lifted her glass and took a long sip. The liquid burned down her throat, leaving her eyes stinging. “Octavia’s my sister, two years younger than me.”

“Parents?”

“Dead.” Blake looked tired as he spoke. His eyes flicked down to the glass in her hands and he sighed. “Good idea.” He pushed up from the couch and made his way to the same cabinet Clarke stood at only moments before.

Reyes chewed on her finger. ”Bellamy, you don’t have to talk about—”

“I’m good,” he mumbled. He made quick of pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey and returning to the couch. “Just didn’t think it would be fair for Clarke to have all the fun.”

She snorted and took another sip of the burning liquid. “Fun.”

He mirrored her actions and took a sip, only grimacing the slightest bit at the firey sensation. 

“O and I both don’t know our fathers, but they’re both muggles. My mother — a muggle-born, by the way — didn’t know them either. I guess he could be alive somewhere, but he’s a stranger. My mom though…” He took a long sip from his glass. “Dead. That’s for sure, no questions.”

Harper was the one to speak. “I’m sorry, Bellamy,” she said, her voice pained. “I didn’t know.”

“It was a few months ago.” Clarke was shocked by how fresh her death must’ve been for him. “Shit spiralled out of control after she died. Octavia and I… she was my responsibility.” She could see he was struggling now — really struggling. “I knew the war was coming, I think we all knew once Dumbledore fell — before that, even. My mother died that same month. I left England for the summer, I left Octavia with a friend. That was a mistake.”

“It’s not your fault,” Reyes insisted. She must’ve known the history with him and his sister if she was trying to reassure him. She reached across the couch they shared and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You thought—”

“I thought, sure.” His voice was turning bitter. “That’s why she’s at Hogwarts right now, right? Because _I thought. I had a plan. I tried my best.”_ He lifted his glass to his lips. “That went really fucking well, didn’t it?”

Clarke was speaking before she thought better. “What happened?”

When his eyes met her, they were filled with that same burning intensity they usually held when they argued. It made her heart race and the breath left her lungs. She almost forgot what hate looked like in his eyes. She almost got used to seeing him without it.

“Wouldn’t you know?” he hissed. 

She narrowed her eyes. “No, I wouldn’t. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Bellamy,” Reyes warned. “Careful.”

He scoffed. “Careful. Right.” He set down his now empty glass on the coffee table and leaned forward. His eyes dug into her soul. “Do you lie often, Griffin?”

The shift in attitude threw her. Her eyebrows flew up. “I— what?”

“My turn to ask a question, isn’t it? Do you lie often?”

Anger flashed through her. Her body tensed and her walls went up. “No. I don’t lie often.”

 _That in itself was a lie_. The only way she survived was by lying. She tried to convince herself that that didn’t count. 

“Really, because—”

“It’s my turn to ask,” she interrupted him. His mouth snapped shut. “Why do you ask? You stopped talking about your sister and now you’re mad at me? Why?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Answer them. You owe me from when I talked about my dad.”

He stared at her for a long moment, clearly debating internally. She kept her intense eyes locked on his.

Finally, he broke the stare. “You asked me what happened to my sister.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

“And you already know what happened to her, don’t you?”

She choked on the air she was breathing. “No, that’s absurd! You… why would you think that?”

“You got here on October 8th,” he said simply, like that explained everything.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

“My sister was taken on September 1st.”

Clarke opened her mouth, but no sound came from her lips. She sucked in a quick breath and examined him closely. He looked confused and broken.

“I still don’t understand how I should know this.”

Blake clenched his jaw. “You had to be somewhere before you came here. You got here in October. My sister went missing in September. That’s one full month of overlap.”

Pieces were beginning to fall into place. “You think I knew your sister is missing!? Because I was the one—”

“No,” he cut her off quickly. “You might not have been the one to do it, but you associated with—”

“Death Eaters,” she finished. Her cheeks were flushed with anger. “You think I know what happened to your sister because Death Eaters took her?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Don’t you?”

“Why would I?” she growled out. Before he could answer, she scoffed. “Merlin. You have no idea who I am.”

Somehow, this turn hurt her more than any one of their arguments. Her chest ached and her heart clenched painfully.

 _They were back to this._ Arguing, accusing, blaming. She thought they moved past this.

His anger and blame hurt.

It was his turn to look confused. “What?”

She got up from the couch, this time intending to leave.

Moments ago, he was jumping up to stop her. She remembered the pleading expression he wore, even if he wore an entirely different one now.

She hesitated and sat back down. Clarke clenched her jaw and focused on settling the anger growing in her stomach.

 _He thought she was a Death Eater._ The thought didn’t surprise her — he was convinced of this fact when she arrived. She thought she proved him wrong though, but she was mistaken. He might’ve thought she was no longer one, but he was still convinced in her involvement a few months ago.

“I’ve never been a Death Eater,” she explained heatedly. She sucked in a calming breath. “You saw my arm the first night. I don’t have the mark.” He eyed her carefully. “You think I knew about your sister because you thought I was involved with Death Eaters.”

“You _were_ involved with Death Eaters,” he snapped. “Your mother? You lived—”

“Yes, I lived with my mother,” she snapped, “but that means nothing. I…” She scrubbed her face. “I’ve never agreed with her. When I grew up, I wasn’t raised on that shit. I mean, my mother sucked, but she thought the Dark Lord was gone. She thought the world was different, and that I should learn to live in this new world.”

Blake looked intrigued. “And when did you figure out all of that was a lie?”

She locked her jaw. He was right. Her life had been a lie.

“First year,” she admitted. “That’s when I figured out my family was dark — that I was living a life different than I thought I was.”

“How?”

Her eyes were burning and it felt almost impossible to breathe. “His name was Wells Jaha.”

Harper looked confused. “I know that name,” she admitted after a second. “I know… Who is he?”

“He was a muggleborn student in our year,” she said. “He was a Slytherin — one of the few muggleborn Slytherin muggleborns in history, apparently. We were friends— I… I _tried_ to be his friend.”

Monty looked hesitant to speak. “What happened to him?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know.” Harper looked horrified. “Muggleborns at Hogwarts, in general, are looked down upon. You know this.”

“Don’t talk to her about that,” Blake snapped. Her eyes flipped to him. “Don’t talk about it like you know.”

“I’m just stating the truth,” she snapped. “I don’t like it — none of us here like it — but it’s the truth. Muggleborns are bullied.”

“It’s true,” Harper admitted. “It isn’t a secret.”

“They’re bullied by half-bloods and pure-bloods.” Blake looked like he was going to interrupt her, but she stopped him. “I’m not saying every halfblood and pureblood do it, but muggleborns don’t bully muggleborns.” He went silent at that. “I’m sure it was hard for you, Harper. It was hard for Wells too. He was surrounded by people that hated him for his blood _all the time._ His stuff was stolen, threats were made, names were used.” She swallowed thickly. “It was terrible.”

“And you did nothing?” Blake asked accusingly. 

“No,” she snapped. “I tried to help. I tried to tell people to back off. He was my friend and… and I wanted to protect him. I couldn’t protect him.” Her walls crumbled. “I was just a kid. I… I couldn’t stop everyone, especially not when everyone else was telling me to be quiet. Especially not when _my mother_ was telling me to stand to the side and look away if I couldn’t join in.” She bit her inner cheek. “I was eleven. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t do enough. Even though I tried to help, I should’ve done more, I should’ve… He left mid-way through first year.” She sighed and looked Blake in the eyes. “That’s when I knew my life was different than I thought. He was terrified and bullied by people because of something so stupid. I… I couldn’t understand their mentality. I _still don’t understand their mentality._

“I wish I would’ve stood up to them more. I wish I would’ve stuck by him, no matter what. I couldn’t look at people I used to consider friends the same after that. I couldn’t look at my mother the same after that. And, since then, I’ve noticed how fucked up everything is. I’ve never agreed with them. _Never._ ”

Blake swallowed thickly and leaned back in his chair. It looked like, finally, she managed to steal all the words from him.

“I have regrets, of course. I didn’t do enough then for Wells. I stood by as I grew up, turning away from what was going on around me, pretending like I didn’t see things. I stayed silent with my mother. I stayed silent, even after I found her silver mask. I stayed silent when she would be out late — working for the Dark Lord, I’m sure. _I stayed silent._ It’s something regret.”

“We all have things we regret,” Reyes cut in suddenly. She looked queasy. “I regret staying at the Prophet for so long. I watched as propaganda was published and lies were spread. I regret not doing anything then.”

“But you made up for it,” Blake cut in quickly. “You left. You’re on the run now because of it.”

Reyes turned her gaze to his. “And Clarke hasn’t? She isn’t on the run because of what she did?”

Four pairs of eyes settled on her. She heard the unspoken question.

_What did you do? How did you end up here?_

“I’m here for a reason, just like the rest of you,” she said. “I could stay silent only for so long.”

“What happened?” Harper urged.

“The Dark Lord returned in 1995. The public didn’t believe it until 1996, but the night he came back, I know my mother was with him. _That full year,_ I know she was working with him.” She swallowed the acid in her mouth and tried to keep her voice even. “She tried to keep it hidden while I was home for summer, but I’m not stupid. Just a few months ago, Dumbledore was murdered, and things were different at home. She didn’t try to hide it from me anymore.

“I always wanted to leave. _After I graduate,_ I would tell myself. Then, during my sixth year, I told myself I would leave in the summer, since I turned of age last October. I could finally go without repercussions. When Dumbledore was murdered and we were sent home for the summer, I was kept under a close watch.

“My mother always knew I didn’t believe in the cause. She knew I was going to try and leave. I was a prisoner in my own home from when I returned from Hogwarts until September 1st.” She glanced at Blake. “I don’t know what happened to your sister. I’m sorry, I truly am, but I don’t know. I was never one of them. Even though I lived in the house with my mother, I didn’t see her _for months._ I didn’t want to talk to her.”

“But you were seen,” he interrupted. “In July, you were seen in black robes with your mother in—”

“You really think I would do that?” she snapped. “Do you think I would _ever_ stand beside that woman? After what she’s done? _Never._ Not because she’s hurt me — which, she has — but because she’s awful.” She didn’t look away from Blake. “I wouldn’t stand by her, never mind any other Death Eater, and never mind in their black robes.”

“You didn’t see her yourself, either,” Reyes interrupted. “Those were just rumours.”

Blake fell silent again.

“I ran away on September 1st. My mother had someone assigned to watch me, and I physically couldn’t cross the wards on the manor, before then. But I was on my way to Hogwarts, and they had to let me out of their sight for a brief moment while we crossed over to the platform.” She shrugged. “One of the wizards watching me went in front of me, the other trailed. As soon as we got into the platform, I stunned the one in front of me, and disappeared before the one following me could get through.”

“But you got here on October 8th?” Blake pushed. “That’s a full month of—”

“Of being on the run,” she concluded. “I didn’t go straight here once I went on the run. First, it was Knockturn Alley. I stayed in muggle London for a while — that was a shit show, considering I don’t understand your metal horses.” She shrugged. “I was being hunted — _I am being hunted._ I jumped around every night and stayed in pubs, and motels, and caves. When McGonagall found me, I was staying in the abandoned book shop in Diagon Alley. That was on October 5th. She told me to get myself to this address, that I would be safe here.” She smirked. “I didn’t want to come, you know. She had to do a lot of convincing. Made me promise I would find somewhere safe.”

The room fell silent when she finished speaking. Monty was the first one to break it.

“I had no idea,” he said. “I…”

“We didn’t know,” Reyes concluded.

Clarke glanced at Blake. His jaw was slack and she could sense his surprise and apprehension.

“I don’t know what happened to Octavia,” she said once again. Clarke pushed up from her seat. “You four know me though — you know me better than that. You’ve lived with me for three weeks. Do you think I would’ve stayed silent if I knew what happened to Octavia? Do you think I would be here if I didn’t need to be?”

The four other occupants of the safe house still looked stunned. She didn’t know what else to say to them. 

With those closing comments, she snatched her glass off the coffee table and moved towards the kitchen. This time, Blake didn’t jump after her.

She tried to pretend that didn’t sting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you all know how frustrating it was to write this!? Torture. All I want is for them to be friends ahhhhhh. FALL IN LOVE ALREADY.
> 
> The reason I wrote Bellamy as angry and suspicious near the end there is because he truly believes Clarke was involved with Death Eaters, and he believes Death Eaters are responsible for taking Octavia. Since she’s right in front of him, he blames her. It doesn’t exactly make sense logically, but he’s thinking heavily with his emotions. That’ll be changing soon, and I’m very excited for that.
> 
> I hope that makes sense!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> Paw


	8. Chapter 7: A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slower update! Real life has been hectic and not slowing down.

**_CLARKE_ **

_October 28, 1997_

Clarke couldn’t sleep 

She gritted her teeth and turned in her bed, pulling the blankets tighter around her shoulders. She couldn’t get her mind quiet enough to sleep, despite the exhaustion clinging to her.

She truly thought her and Blake were making progress. After she told him off when he cut her, he genuinely seemed apologetic and like he wanted to change. He helped her mend her wound and, even though she didn’t forgive him for those first few days, they were making progress. They weren’t bickering, they weren’t desperately avoiding each other, they weren’t taking every opportunity to argue.

_Things changed._

Or, she thought they did, anyways. They were civil to each other, they were turning over a new leaf, and she was starting to see him in a new light.

_Turns out that was all in her head._

Merlin, she was even convinced of their new dynamic when he asked her about her childhood memories earlier. It was shocking that he didn’t ask her about how many people she had killed or how many Death Eater’s she shared a meal with. For a moment, she let herself believe that he actually wanted to get to know her.

_The real her._

Clarke pushed down the frustration budding in her. Her eyes were burning and her throat ached from trying to keep the tears at bay.

She shouldn’t care. She really shouldn’t.

 _But she did._ That only made the frustration grow. 

She shouldn’t care that he still didn’t trust her. She shouldn’t care that he thought she was a Death Eater, or that she helped people get murdered and tortured, or that she believed in all the vile things that the followers of the Dark Lord did.

 _Fuck her._ She cared. She didn’t know why – she couldn’t justify it to herself, no matter how many hours she laid awake, thinking of it.

_She just did._

Clarke wanted them to trust her. She wanted them to know who she was – that she wasn’t a monster, that she never _was_ a monster. At first, she thought she wanted them to trust her because she wanted to stop walking on eggshells around them, but there was more to it.

She wanted them to trust her because they were who she had now. She didn’t have friends or family. She didn’t have people who cared about her. For a time, she was okay with being alone, because being alone meant being safe.

 _But then she came here._ She came to Kane’s safe house and saw how much she was missing out on. She saw how close the four in the safe house were; how Harper could simply _look_ at Monty and he’d know what she was thinking, or how Reyes could talk to Blake about anything, or how Harper and Reyes would sing muggle songs in the mornings while cooking breakfast, or how Blake would discuss a book in detail with Monty during lunch. 

They were like a family. They could rely on each other, and trust each other. They were there when things got tough; for comfort, for a laugh, for support.

 _She never had that._ She never realized how much she wanted that.

 _And fuck Blake for letting her think she could have that._ Fuck him for being nice to her, only for him to turn around again.

For a moment, she thought that there was a chance of her getting all of that. She sat in the living area, reading a book, surrounded by people that she was surviving with, and she thought that could be her new normal. When Monty and Harper spoke to her about their N.E.W.T. exams, it felt _normal._ It felt like something friends would do. When Reyes mentioned Slytherin in passing, and without a grimace, Clarke thought that they were making progress. When Blake looked at her and joked with her, she thought things had changed.

 _Shit,_ she was a mess. She gripped the blanket tighter in her fists and sniffed pathetically, forcing herself not to cry.

It was fine. Really, it was. She didn’t have to fit in here – she never expected to fit in, anyways. _It was fine._ She didn’t give a damn about what Blake thought; she never did, and she wasn’t going to start now.

Clarke glanced at the glowing muggle clock on Reyes’ bed stand. It wasn’t even eleven at night, but she’d been trying to sleep for the last two hours. At least the older girl hadn’t come to the room yet – if she had, she would’ve been kept awake by the amount of noise Clarke was making.

Just as Clarke was about to turn back around in bed, a shadow passed under the door. She caught the change in lighting out of the corner of her eye and it made her freeze. Her eyes locked on the crack under the door, where light from the hallway bled into the room.

The shadow passed under her door again. Someone kept walking up and down the hall. She attempted to close her eyes and ignore the lighting shifts, but she couldn’t. Now that she knew someone was in the hall, she couldn’t keep her eyes closed for long.

Clarke was about to shout for the person to bugger off when the shadow swept across the door again, but this time it never left the frame. They were standing right in front of the door now. Before she could guess what was going on, they softly knocked at her bedroom door.

Her heart was racing in her chest and her mouth ran dry. Whoever this was, they were coming specifically to talk to her. The rest of the house must know that Reyes wasn’t in bed yet. Even more concerning was the fact that this person was _pacing_ right outside her door, like they were contemplating knocking.

“Griffin?” His voice was soft; it was something she hadn’t heard before. “Are you awake?”

Cold hands wrapped around her heart and her throat constricted.

_Blake._

He was the one knocking.

She was conflicted when it came to him. She liked getting along with him and being civil, even if it was only for a few moments. She wanted to get back to that.

 _Would they ever get to that?_ Would he ever be able to get over the colours of her robes and her family name? Would he ever be able to move on from reputations?

Part of her wanted to try. She was drawn to the idea of friends. Another part of her wanted to turn away – to pretend that she was asleep. She wanted to protect herself – she wanted to stop wanting, to stop trying.

“Please,” he said again, his voice raspy.

If Blake was anything, it would be surprising. Once again, she was thrown by how genuine his voice sounded. She was shocked that he was at her bedroom door, asking if she was awake. 

“What is it?” she snapped, the anger from earlier bubbling up. 

She was angry with him – for judging her from the moment she walked in the house, for cutting her, for acting like there was ever a possibility they could be more than just enemies. 

She was mad that he turned on her so suddenly, that he believed she was a Death Eater, that he thought that she hid information about his sister.

Clarke wasn’t going to change for him. She wasn’t going to forgive him for things that hurt her, just because he knocked on her door, sounding upset. She wasn’t going to forgive him over and over when he came to her with an apology, no matter how good it was.

She learned at a young age that some people in the world never changed. Some people were set in their beliefs and their ways, and _nothing_ would ever change that. 

She didn’t think Blake was one of those people. She _hoped_ he wasn’t one of those people.

“Can we talk?”

Clarke was tempted to tell him to screw off. She was tempted to never try with him again – after all, she could try only so many times. If they were always going to circle back to this – with him thinking she was a Death Eater, with her defending herself – then there wasn’t a point. 

Maybe it was because she was desperate for friends, or maybe it was because she wanted to tell him off, but she relented. “Come in.”

Clarke pushed herself into a sitting position on the bed and grimaced as Blake let light in through the open door. He slipped into the room quickly and shut the door behind him, sealing them in darkness.

She could still see him easily, despite the lack of light; what poured in from the hallway under the door made sure of that. She could see the curls of his hair, and the broadness of his shoulders, and the muscles along his arms.

He hung near the door, his posture stiff and uncertain. She pushed the blankets off her body and swung her legs out of bed, feeling entirely too uncomfortable to be laying down for this conversation.

They were both silent, and it was killing her. She wanted him to get on with it. She wanted him to tell her why he came. 

“You can turn on the light,” she offered after a minute, thinking he needed an extra invitation to come in.

That seemed to do the trick. He flicked on the lightswitch, letting the overhanging light fill the room with an orange glow. She shifted on the bed, but kept her eyes on him. With the light on, she could see his expression, and it only made her more confused.

He looked broken. There was no other way to explain it. His forehead was creased, his eyebrows pushed together, his eyes haunted, his jaw locked. He was nervous, too.

She was getting frustrated. He was just _standing there_ like he was waiting for her to speak. 

She cracked. “Blake, I’m not in the mood,” she sighed. “I–"

“I’m sorry.”

He spoke quickly, but his words carried enough weight to make her feel like they punched her in the gut. The air left her lungs and made her mind feel fuzzy.

She clamped her mouth shut and looked at him with wide eyes. 

He must’ve sensed the awkwardness and tension that she did. His face was twisted and he shifted uncomfortably. Clarke has half the mind to accept his apology so they could both move on and forget this awkward attempt at forgiveness. 

_But no._ She wasn’t going to forgive him — not from some few pretty words. She already tried that once in the bathroom. Despite how much she hated her mother, there was one thing she taught her that she tried her best to live by; actions spoke louder than any words.

Right now, Blake was good at speaking pretty things, but his actions lacked support. He said sorry one moment, then turned around and called her a Death Eater the next. He pretended to be her friend, then jumped to conclusions about who she truly was. 

His actions didn’t follow through with his words. She wasn’t going to keep forgiving him without seeing some sort of action on his part. 

She pursed her lips. “Pretty words, Blake, but I’ve heard them before from you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Just the other day, you were apologizing to me. Now, you’re back doing the same thing because _you repeated the same mistake.”_

He didn’t look dejected or hurt with her words. Instead, he locked eyes with her. “I know.” He blew out a long breath and shifted under her intense gaze. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“If you don’t know what to say, then why come here?”

He reached into his wand pocket. Out of pure habit, Clarke tensed and her eyes darted to her own wand on her bedside table. Before she could think of lunging for it, she caught sight of a corner of the box he was pulling from his pocket.

It was a rainbow coloured box — one that she recognized immediately. By the time the box was fully out and nestled in his palm, she had turned her eyes to his.

_It was a box of sugar quills._

“I had these, and I thought of you,” he said after silence stretched between them. It hit her; he was giving her a box of candy. He lifted them up uneasily and took a half step towards her. “You said earlier they’re your favourite candy.”

“And, what?” she pressed. Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. “What did you hope to accomplish with them?”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that response. His eyebrows disappeared behind the curls of his fringe. 

“I- uh.” He shuffled back to hang by the door, his hand dropping to his side. “I wanted to give them to you.”

“Why?”

He openly looked confused now. “To say sorry for earlier. As a peace offering.”

“A peace offering,” she repeated, her words coming out as a hiss. “To say sorry?”

“Yeah. To, I don’t know, make up for being an ass.”

She snapped at that. 

“No,” she said, her voice sharp. “You don’t _make up_ for being an ass through giving gifts and buying forgiveness.”

His mouth dropped open at that. “No, I-”

“You think that you can erase all these weeks of tension and venom by _a box of candy?”_ She shook her head. “No. Forgiveness isn’t bought, Blake. It’s earned.”

His mouth snapped shut and he stood a few inches taller. “What, no, I-”

“No, what?” she asked, her voice holding steady. “No — you don’t agree with me? Or no, I’m wrong, I’m-”

“Neither of those things,” he cut in quickly. “You’re right. Forgiveness isn’t bought. It should be earned.” He swallowed thickly. “And I know I have to earn that from you. I know a box of candy isn’t going to erase everything that’s happened. It isn’t going to make up for anything.

“I just… I wanted to take a step. To show you that _I will try_. I promise, Griffin, I’m going to try to make up for what I’ve said — for what I’ve assumed. And I don’t expect you to forgive me; that’s why I say _try._ I don’t expect anything from you because this—” he gestured between them, “—isn’t your fault — it’s mine. This is my mess.” He lifted the box of quills. “This isn’t me trying to erase everything. This is my promise to you that I’m going to do better.”

He set the box of sugar quills down on the desk in the corner of the room, which was completely bare, save for a desk lamp.

She didn’t speak, and neither did he. The silence was as thick as the humidity in summer. It was suffocating. 

Finally, he cracked. “I’m sorry, Griffin. I—”

“Right,” she cut in quickly. She clenched her jaw. Her anger had almost dissolved, leaving her deflated and exhausted. Her thoughts swam around her head without purpose. The tension was stifling, her thoughts were messy, her heart was clenching painfully. “I need time alone.”

Once again, his mouth fell open, like he wasn’t expecting that as a response. What _was_ he expecting? For her to run to him — to forgive him — to proclaim him as the saviour of their relationship?

(What _fucking_ relationship?)

“I need time to myself,” she repeated slowly. 

“I understand. I’ll leave you.”

Her eyes flicked back to the box of candy on her desk. “I don’t want them.”

“They’re yours,” he insisted. “I… you can have them.”

“I don’t want them,” she repeated again, her voice firm.

Blake took a step backwards, his hand reaching for the bedroom door handle. She narrowed her eyes. 

“Blake, I said—”

“They’re a gift,” he said. “If you don’t want them, give them to Raven. I don’t want them.” She could tell he was lying. “I don’t even like them.”

_Bullshit._

Before she could tell him to take the candy again, he pulled open the door and slipped out of the room. He didn’t stop to turn off the light, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

With a huff, she flopped backwards in bed, her forearm covering her eyes of the bright light. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep between the fluorescent lights and the buzzing thoughts.

Fine by her. She wasn’t tired anyways.

* * *

_October 31, 1997_

* * *

It was three days after their fallout while playing Harper’s muggle game, and she was still trying to avoid him. At first, she tried to avoid everyone in the house, but that was nearly impossible.

The first day after the fallout, Harper came to her room to eat breakfast together. Somehow, she managed to remember what her favourite muggle cereal was — it was the one with the tiny marshmallows in it. They sat at her desk and ate together, and it was truly hard to ignore her after that.

It was hard to ignore Reyes, too. She was making a point in hanging out in their room more than just for sleeping, so their paths crossed more and more. It turned out they had a lot in common.

Ambition — a quality of Slytherin — and drive — a quality of Ravenclaws — weren’t that different from each other.

She even seemed to be growing closer to Monty. When she was studying her N.E.W.T prep book in the make-shift library, he came to sit with her, an identical prep book under his arm. When he opened it, the spine cracked, and he glanced at her sheepishly. It was the first time he had opened the book, and the thought made them both laugh.

The only one who hasn’t attempted to spend time with her was Blake, and she was grateful for that. It didn’t necessarily feel the same as it did those first few weeks — with him avoiding her. It felt… softer than that.

He was giving her space.

She realized it late on the second day. She realized that the last thing she said to him in her room was a plea for him to step away — for him to give her space.

And she realized shortly after that, that he wasn’t avoiding her. She realized _why_ their distance felt warmer than it did those first few weeks. If she walked in a room, he would smile in her direction before leaving — this was a stark contrast to a glare he would give before.

She was thankful for the space, too. She needed it to work out her thoughts towards him.

She was confused. She never felt so torn about something before. The world was so black and white before, but he was grey. She always knew what she _should_ be doing.

Not now.

Not with him.

One side of her was tempted to continue what she was doing. She wanted to ignore him. She didn’t want to try with him anymore. She wanted to forget him, because he deserved it, right? 

He was the one to push her away. He was the one who turned things sour, who wasn’t letting go of reputations, who wasn’t trying.

That was true.

 _But the other side confused her._ She wanted to forgive him, to give him another chance. She wanted to believe that the sugar quills were a step towards a peace between them. She wanted to believe that he was sorry, and that he would change his actions.

( _He changed before_ , she reminded herself. After he cut her, he changed, even if he slipped back that one day. He healed her. He apologized. They were moving to something more peaceful.)

Clarke wanted to scream in frustration. The way she survived was by being unforgiving — by never giving people second chances. She didn’t know how many people would’ve betrayed her if she hadn’t been so harsh.

 _But this was different, wasn’t it?_ She was safe here. She didn’t have to be harsh or unforgiving to save her life.

She could be herself.

(Who was she?)

Fuck Blake for opening this crisis. If he never apologized, she never would have been questioning who she was, and who she wanted to be. She never would have wondered how she would be acting if she didn’t grow up having to hide who she was.

She never would know the answer to her questions. Her mother guaranteed that. She never would know who she truly was. All she knew was the facade she built to keep safe. 

Getting nowhere with that, she turned to logic.

_What would happen if I don’t forgive him? What would happen if I did forgive him?_

While she was shit at divination, she still had a pretty good guess. If she didn’t forgive him, or if she didn’t try to move on, then she would never feel like she belonged at Kane’s house. While belonging wasn’t necessary for her survival, it was something she wanted.

She could always ask to transfer safe houses, but she doubted that anyone other than Kane would want to take her. She was a risk, and it was a risk not many people were willing to take.

She also knew that Kane wanted them to get along. That was the one task he gave before he left. 

She ended up thinking back to his words a lot. He was right. They needed to get along for the safety of the group. If they ever needed to fight together, it would be impossible if they didn’t know each other, and if they couldn’t stand each other.

She knew what was out there. She knew that the other side wanted them dead. Kane believed everything was growing towards a battle they were all going to fight in, that they needed to be ready to fight against the most dangerous people in the world.

They needed each other, whether she liked it or not. 

On the third day of not speaking, Blake held true to his word and threw a feast in celebration of Halloween. It was the first meal she ate with him after their fallout, but she avoided eye contact with him. It was only afterwards, when he was up to his elbows in soapy water and holding a dirty dish, did she speak to him.

“Can we talk?” she asked, entering the empty kitchen behind him.

He must’ve been in a deep trace while on dishes duty, as her voice made him jump. The wet plate slipped out of his hands and they both watched as it tumbled to the ground and shattered.

“Shit.” He reached for the dish towel on the counter to dry his hands. His eyes flicked to hers for a brief moment. “You surprised me.”

She watched as he went to bend down to clean the ceramic shards. Before he could make it half-way, she pointed her wand at the mess and uttered an incantation. Just as quickly as it broke, the plate joined itself together again and flew back onto the counter.

“Kane doesn’t need to know,” she determined as she stowed her wand. He was one for doing things the muggle way — a way that Blake clearly adopted, and one that she hadn’t.

“Uh. Sure.” He stood back up and ran his hands up and down his pant leg. She wasn’t sure if it was out of nervousness or from lingering dish water. “Uhm. Are you okay?”

Clarke found it interesting that his first thoughts went to her safety, and she managed a tiny nod. “I’m fine.” She eyed him. “You?”

This was stiff and awkward. It wasn’t like her to engage in these social pleasantries if there was something on her mind. It was something that used to drive her prim and proper mother wild. 

“Fine.”

Merlin, why wasn’t she speaking? She came here with a purpose, yet, here she was, stalling and hovering.

Clarke took a step into the kitchen and eyed the stack of dripping plates along the side of the sink. “Need help with those?”

“I- uh.” Blake shifted uneasily. “I should do them by hand. Kane swears he can taste when we use magic to dry them.”

Clarke pursed her lips. His words felt like a challenge to her. 

“I can dry them by hand.” He looked shocked. “What? You think I don’t understand how?”

“No, no.” He still looked unsure. “I just… You asked if we could talk. I assume it isn’t about doing dishes?”

She avoided his question by moving forward and snatching the dish cloth off the counter. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head as she took the first plate into her hands.

He was waiting for a response.

“I did ask to talk.” She slid the dry plate into the cabinet above her head. “And?”

“And?” he echoed. Blake stepped up beside her and dipped his hands back into the sink, resuming washing. 

“And, can we? Talk?”

He shrugged and handed her a rinsed plate. “Sure.”

She tried to avoid looking at him, but it was nearly impossible in that moment. She could feel his body heat only a step away, she could hear his steady breaths, she could see every tiny movement from the corner of her eye.

She caved.

She turned to the side to stare at him head on. “I want to talk to you about things.”

“I gathered.”

If she hadn’t been looking at him, she would’ve missed the quirk of his lips, and she would’ve assumed he was taking a dig at her.

 _He wasn’t._ He was trying to joke with her.

She turned her head away and bit her lip. She wasn’t there yet. She wasn’t ready to joke with him like they were friends.

“Something Kane told us the other week stuck with me, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she began. Despite having rehearsed this conversation a dozen times in her mind, the words felt choppy. 

“Which thing was that?”

“This is a bubble. This safe house, these dinners, the training… _everything_. We live in a bubble.” She swallowed thickly. “I told you the other day that I was on the run for a while. You remember, right?”

He stiffened beside her. “I remember,” he told her, his voice serious. “I remember everything you said that day.”

That stunned her.

She tried to hide her shock and kept talking. “And… and I told you that I was essentially a prisoner in my own home? How I was kept on that side of the war because of my mom?”

“Yes.”

“And, well… you were right. My housemates — they _are_ Death Eaters. I spent a lot of time around them — not willingly, but I did.”

He hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that I was right, but—”

“You weren’t right,” she cut him off. “Not about everything. But you were about that.” He didn’t move or say anything, so she continued. “I know what it’s like to be out there — to not live in a bubble. I know you do, too.”

He took the second dish cloth off the counter top and dried his hands, the dishes long forgotten again. 

They locked eyes. A jolt went up her spine.

“I do.”

She nodded sharply. “We both know the horrors out there. I listened to a lot of shit — I’ve seen a lot of shit. It’s something I’m not proud of, but I’m not going to apologize for it. It’s just the facts. I’ve been on that other side, I’ve seen what they do. I’ve heard the propaganda, the torture, the death.” He looked as sick as she felt. “You have too?”

He nodded. “I have.”

“Kane said this is a bubble, and he’s right. There are people out there looking for us, trying to kill us.” She was struggling with her words. The weight of what she was saying was crushing. “But this isn’t about us. Kane was right about that too. It’s about everyone. It’s about what’s right.

“I don’t want to assume anything about you, but I think we’ve both been caught up with life in here. We all have. Who drank the last butterbeer, who’s turn it is to set the table, who slipped laxatives into food all those years ago…”

He smirked sheepishly. “It was you.”

Clarke smiled at that. At least he could tell she was joking with that final statement.

“It’s all a bubble,” she continued. She paused and sucked in a deep breath. “And you aren’t my enemy.” She didn’t drop her gaze when she spoke this, even though she wanted to. “Kane was right about that, too.

“We need to be allies. Not just for us, or to get Kane off our backs, or to do better in training, but we need to get our shit together for the others too. This is bigger than us, bigger than Kane and the safe house, bigger than our house rivalry. If we want to have any hope of coming out of this war alive, we need to do it together.”

Blake examined her eyes for a long moment. “Together,” he said, like he was testing out the word. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Yeah. You’re right. I’ve been in this bubble.” He tugged on the ends of his hair. “I thought I wasn’t in the bubble Kane was talking about because of how I looked at you.” He looked bitter as he spoke, and, for once, that bitterness wasn’t directed at her. “I convinced myself that I was the only one with clarity; that everyone was being to relaxed about you, that everyone wasn’t worried enough.” He shook his head. “I was wrong. _Really wrong._ I looked at you and saw an enemy, but… that’s not right. I know that’s not right.”

Blake swallowed thickly and searched her eyes. She tried to keep her expression as blank as possible, not wanting to give him an advantage over her.

“If you’re here, you’re one of us,” he stated simply. “You’re an ally, Griffin.”

Her heart was pounding. A warmth was creeping into her chest. She was dazed by his words.

“Being allies means being civil to each other,” she continued. “It means working together. It means setting aside our past, and our rivalry, and our reputations and assumptions.” She couldn’t pull her gaze away from him, even if she tried. “Can we do that?”

He didn’t answer right away. The brief silence was broken by his question. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

She studied him closely, thrown by him once again. She decided that the first step to being allies was to be honest.

“No,” she admitted. “I don’t forgive you for everything. Not yet.”

He didn’t seem upset by this answer. In fact, he almost looked relieved.

He nodded. “Okay.” He bit his lip. “You were right, by the way. Forgiveness isn’t something to be bought with candy. It’s something I need to earn.” The muscles in his jaw rippled. “And I plan on doing that, Griffin. I plan on doing everything I can to earn that forgiveness and to make up for everything, because I was wrong.” 

She wasn’t sure how to do this. How to be friends, or even allies. It was something so foreign to her.

“You were,” she said. “But I’ve been wrong in my life, too.” Clarke stuck her hand out in his direction. “Allies?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Allies.” His fingers were warm on her hand. Her touch made sparks fly up her arm and it made her heart race.

While they weren’t perfect, this was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to finally start this new chapter of Bellamy and Clarke in this fic. AHHH yay no more hostility.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are extremely appreciated.
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 8: Simple Words

**_CLARKE_ **

_ November 3, 1997 _

* * *

Clarke jolted awake as soon as she heard screaming.

Before she could clear the sleep from her eyes, she was already moving. Her heart was in her throat and her mind spiralled to assume the worst.

_ This is it. The safe house was breached. They found her. _

_ This is where she is going to die. _

As she fumbled for her wand, she thought of the others in the safe house. It was a fleeting moment, but more panic surged through her at the thought of any of them getting hurt.

Her heart was hammering in her chest and her blood was rushing through her ears. It felt like she was distant from her body and she moved on only instinct. The screaming felt worlds away. 

Her hands curled around the wood of her wand and she whipped it out before she could figure out what was going on. The incantation for a shield charm was on the tip of her tongue, but she faltered.

_ Reality came crashing back to her. _

She realized the screaming was coming from beside her.

Her ears rang from the rush of blood and her head felt light. Her breathing was ragged as her mind struggled to catch up with the world around her. 

They weren’t in danger.

She didn’t need her wand. 

They weren’t being attacked.

Her eyes came to rest on the girl on the opposite end of the room. Her blanket was tangled around her bare legs, with part of it spilling onto the floor. Under the moonlight, she could see sweat lining her brow. Her expression was twisted.

Clarke froze and studied Reyes. It didn’t look like she was hurt, as she was still sleeping, but her expression was pained.

“No,” she groaned, her head thrashing back and forth. “No.”

_ It was a nightmare. _

Clarke’s wand clattered back to her mattress and the breath left her lungs quickly, as if she’d been punched. Her whole body shook with adrenaline and it felt like she could sob.

_ She thought she was going to die.  _

She quickly pushed those worries away. It wasn’t time to think of herself. She needed to worry about Reyes. 

Clarke moved towards theRavenclaw, her eyes still scanning her body for indication that something was wrong. She was openly sobbing now and thrashing in bed.

It was horrifying. She looked terrified. 

She desperately wanted to reach out for her, to tell her that it was just a nightmare, but she didn’t move. She wasn’t exactly close to the girl, and she didn’t want to scare her even more by shaking her awake.

Clarke hung back a few paces from the bed, watching helplessly. Her screams had died into sobs, but they were gut-wrenching. 

“Reyes,” she hissed, her voice soft. “Reyes, wake up.”

She took a half-step forward, but didn’t reach for her. She continued to sob. It was clear that her distress was increasing by the minute. 

“Reyes. Reyes.” She surged forward again, her hand moving on their own accord. Her fingers brushed against Reyes’ arm, and the older girl jerked away suddenly.

Clarke froze. She didn’t know what to do.

“No,” she sobbed. “No, no, no. Leave us. Leave him. Please. Please, I’ll do anything.” She thrashed again. “Please—“

Clarke couldn’t watch anymore. She closed the distance between them. Her touch was stronger and more sure when she brushed Reyes’ arm.

“Reyes,” she said. “Reyes, wake up.”

“No, no, I—”

“Raven!” Clarke shook her arm, and that seemed to do the trick. Her eyes flew open and she let out a startled yelp.

Clarke froze as soon as Reyes’ eyes were open and locked on hers. Her cheeks were tear stained and her eyes puffy, yet her gaze so sharp. Reyes looked shocked.

Then, almost as if she realized what happened and that she was safe, her expression crumbled. She broke apart under Clarke’s touch and moved forward, pressing her face to Clarke’s torso.

She stumbled back, not expecting the contact. The shock lasted for only a moment before Clarke dropped to her knees and wrapped her arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight embrace. It must’ve been what she was needing, as she sobbed louder as soon as her arms were around her.

“I’m sorry,” Reyes managed to say between sobs. “I— I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t mean—“

Clarke shushed her. “It’s okay,” she promised, her voice soothing. “We’re all okay. It was a nightmare.”

She didn’t have much experience comforting people, never having been close enough to someone for her to be their first choice for a shoulder to cry on, but the words slipped from her lips naturally.

Reyes’ fingers dug into Clarke’s shoulders painfully, but she didn’t flinch away. She understood the nightmares. She understood the need to be held. 

Both girls jumped when the door to their room burst open. Clarke swallowed a scream, still on edge from being woken so suddenly. The light from the hallway flooded into the room.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on? What’s — Griffin!?” Blake rushed into the room with his wand drawn and his eyes blazing. His feet froze to the ground when his eyes fell on Clarke embracing Reyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is  _ she _ hurt?”

Reyes pulled away from Clarke when she saw Blake. The two of them locked eyes from across the room, and that was all it took.

The fight bled out of Blake completely. His shoulders slumped forward and the mask slipped from his features. When he spoke next, his voice wasn’t frantic or commanding — it was soothing.

“I’m here,” he promised her. He moved forward and dropped to his knees in front of her bed, his shoulder brushing against Clarke’s. “I’m here.”

She watched curiously as Reyes left her grasp completely, falling into Blake’s arms instead. She continued to sob in his hold, mumbling the same apologies as earlier.

Clarke’s gaze was pulled away from Reyes’ back and locked eyes with Blake over her head. The emotion in his eyes stunned her into silence.

_ It looked like he was breaking alongside her. _

While he usually wore a mask around her, he didn’t in this moment. She could see every emotion on his face; the pain, the heartbreak, the fear. She could see it not only in his eyes, but she could see it in the way his mouth twisted and chin trembled.

Just like in the bathroom, Clarke was stunned by how intense he was. She was drawn to his eyes. They reminded her of the forest and of warmth. They were like magnets, refusing the let her gaze move anywhere else. 

“Are you okay?” he repeated to her, his voice softer than the first time. She couldn’t shake how his concern made her want to sob.

“I’m okay,” she told him, her throat tight. Her eyes flicked down to the girl still sobbing. “She had a nightmare.”

“She has them frequently,” he told her. 

His eyes dropped to her hand, which was still resting against Reyes’ elbow. Instantly, she withdrew her touch, thinking he was silently asking her to.

“You’re shaking,” he commented. She dropped her hand to her side and shifted an inch away from him. His eyes locked back on hers. “That’s why I’m asking if you’re okay. You’re shaking.”

Clarke managed a weak smile. “Fine. Adrenaline.” 

She felt awkward by the closeness between all three of them. The longer Reyes cried and cling to Blake, the more it felt like she was intruding on a private moment. 

The need to escape the situation overwhelmed her. 

“I’ll get her a calming drought,” she offered. Clarke pushed up from the ground, her head spinning from adrenaline. “Where is it?”

“Kitchen.” She stumbled backwards, her feet tripping over themselves. He was right; she was shaking, but she doubted it was just from adrenaline.  _ She had been terrified.  _ “Griffin?” He called to her before she left the room. “Maybe you should take one too?”

Before, she would’ve been offended by that. She would’ve assumed he was taking a dig at her, that he was implying she had a stick up her ass, or that she was being dramatic.

She could tell from his expression that he wasn’t trying to offend her. He genuinely looked concerned. Her chest seemed to grow tighter at that.

Before either of them could say anything, she stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. After taking a moment to compose herself, she made her way to the kitchen.

Half an hour later, Clarke found herself in the living area. She brought up a calming drought and a dreamless sleep potion for Reyes, and left her alone with Blake. They were both engrossed in a hushed conversation, and she didn’t want to intrude more than she had.

She was exhausted. The clock above the television said it was 3:30 in the morning, and that thought alone made her even more exhausted.

Clarke tipped her head to rest against the back of the couch and allowed her eyes to slide shut. She felt better than she did earlier, after following Blake’s suggestion and taking a calming drought, but her whole body was still humming.

She was too tired to mull over her thoughts, even though there was plenty to think about. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on the clock, and watched the seconds tick by. 

Another seven minutes passed before she heard her bedroom door shut. She listened carefully as someone started down the stairs.

Clarke lifted her head from the couch cushion just in time to see Blake turn the corner. He had the two vials in his hands. He paused at the doorway as soon as he saw her.

“She’s asleep,” he said after a moment. “She refused the dreamless sleep potion, but took the calming drought.”

Clarke nodded. “That’s good. She needs rest.”

He pursed his lips and continued towards the kitchen. “So do you.”

He disappeared into the next room and Clarke couldn’t fight the smile. It was strange, being friendly with someone. Even at Hogwarts, where she grew up with the people in her house, nobody actually  _ cared.  _ They were all concerned with the bigger things, like the war. More often than not, she was an outsider there, too.

Blake reappeared a minute later, two glasses of water in his hands. Clarke was surprised when he didn’t leave the way he came; instead, he walked around the couch and fell gracelessly into the armchair across from her.

He placed both glasses on the coffee table between them and pushed one in her direction. “Thirsty?”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the glass into her hands. She watched him over the rim while she sipped. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asked. 

“I tok a calming drought like you suggested. That helped.” 

She watched him curiously. He shifted in his seat, making himself more comfortable. It looked like he was planning on staying for a while.

He must’ve noticed she was watching him. “I’m not going to sleep anytime soon,” he said. “I, uh, I want to make sure she’s okay before I head back to sleep. I’ll check on her in a bit.”

She was shocked. He was clearly exhausted — his eyes were red from lack of sleep — but he was determined. He seemed to be extremely dedicated to the others in the house.

She never met someone like him.

“You really care about her,” she commented. It wasn’t a question. She could see it in the way he acted to her, she could see it in the way he looked at her.

Blake smiled. “She’s like a sister to me,” he said after a moment. “We’ve been through hell and back together.”

“It’s good to have someone,” she determined. “Being alone is worse than people think.” 

That was a fact that she understood. She had been alone for the majority of her life. Even when she was surrounded by people, she was alone with her struggles. 

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, cutting through the silence. Her brows pushed together in confusion. “For being there for her,” Blake clarified.

_ Oh. _

She nodded in acknowledgement. She wasn’t sure what else to say with that.

“It’s…  _ good  _ that she has you,” he continued to speak. She was further shocked by his words. “I appreciate that she has someone else looking out for her.”

Clarke wasn’t used to him complimenting her. It felt weird, even though it made her heart race the slightest bit. 

As usual, she tried to run. 

She changed the topic.

“Does she have nightmares often?”

If Blake knew what she was doing, he didn’t let on. 

“Yeah. I mean, we both do.” He glanced up at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. “Before we got to Kane’s, we were on the run together. It was only for a few weeks, but we saw a lot of shit. I understand where she’s coming from.”

During Harper’s game, it was  _ her  _ spilling her past, not him. She didn’t know a lot about Blake, and this fact surprised her. 

“It was just you two?”

“No. She had a close friend with us.” 

He glanced away from the ceiling, looking at her. She could see the tension in his shoulders and she knew this story wasn’t going to be a happy one.

(Were any of their stories happy ones?)

“He was murdered.”

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically. Passing along condolences for deaths had become an instinct during the war.

He smiled thinly. “Me too.” He looked away again. “I wasn’t there when it happened. She was. She still sees him in her sleep.”

Her heart gave a sharp pull. “That’s horrible.”

She knew what that was like. She knew what it was like to see faces while she slept.

“You probably knew him,” he said after a beat. “Finn Collins? He was a Gryffindor in my year.”

She immediately remembered him. “Yeah, I remember him.” She smirked at the first memory that came to mind. “Wasn’t he the one that flew around the Great Hall naked during the Triwizard Tournament?”

“The one and only.” Blake was smiling at the memory too. “Merlin, Hooch had the whole fleet of broomsticks sterilized after that because he wouldn’t come clean about which one he used.” 

Water nearly went up her nose at that. “Holy shit, really?”

“Would you expect anything less than her?” he countered. “She made my team wash all the balls as punishment for trying to sabotage a practice one year.”

“That was  _ my  _ practice,” she said, the smirk still on her face. “Glad you can admit you were trying to sabotage it though. Finally, you tell the truth after years.”

Blake laughed at that. It was brief, but it made her heart jump. “Oh, come on, Griffin. Don’t pretend your team didn’t try to do the same.”

“If we’re coming clean, then  _ yes,  _ my team loved trying to throw you guys off your game.”

They both snickered at that, like they were old friends.

It was beyond strange to Clarke if she thought about it. It wasn’t too long ago that they were at each other’s throats whenever Quidditch was mentioned. Weeks ago, she never would’ve admitted what she just did.

She didn’t regret it though. She couldn’t — not when they were both laughing about it, not when they were both joking about it.

When they both quieted, Blake turned somber. “Finn was my roommate back at Hogwarts. I knew him well.”

Clarke’s heart twinged again, sharper this time. The smile fell from her face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “How did he…” 

She stopped herself before she could finish speaking. She didn’t want to press, and she didn’t want him to think she wanted the information for the wrong reasons. She was genuinely curious. She wanted to understand what Reyes and him went through. 

She wanted to know them better.

“Die?” he finished. 

She grimaced. “I guess that’s probably not nice to ask people you don’t really know, huh?”

When his eyes settled on her again, they were deep and burning. “We know each other,” he insisted. “I mean… I know you better now than I did one month ago.”

She swallowed thickly, feeling overcome with unexplained emotions. “Alright.”

He averted his gaze again. “We tried to lay low by staying in magical communities, but we really should’ve gone to muggle London, or anywhere else.” He blew out a long breath. “They recognized Raven from the Prophet. They knew she had a higher bounty — I guess because of the protests she was apart of. They went for her.”

“Snatchers?”

He nodded and continued. “Raven and I took off for the meeting point. Or I thought we did. She slipped from my grasp when I disapperated. She stayed behind for Finn. When she came for me, she was covered in his blood.”

Clarke swallowed thickly. She felt sick.

Blake looked as sick as she felt, too. His whole body was stiff and his mouth twisted into a bitter frown. She couldn’t see his eyes, but, if she did, she knew they would be filled with emotion. 

“Other than that, we’ve been lucky,” he continued. He shifted his whole body, and he seemed to relax the slightest bit. “Only a few other run ins with Snatchers. We did that through August, and then we got to Kane’s in September.”

Clarke didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet. There was a lot of things she didn’t know about him. Piece by piece, she was getting to know him better, and she was beginning to understand who he was.

His sister. His friendship with Raven.

_ It wasn’t enough.  _ She wanted to know more. 

Yet, she stayed quiet. 

After a minute passed of silence, Blake glanced at her. “I didn’t mean to go so dark,” he admitted. He reached up and rubbed his eyes. “Tired, I guess. I’m not thinking straight.”

Clarke stifled a yawn. “Don’t say that,” she mumbled, her head dropping back onto the couch. 

“What?”

“The T-word.” She glanced at him through hooded eyes. “Tired.” It was his turn to yawn, and she quickly followed him with one of her own. “Told you. It’s a curse.”

She liked the way his eyes lit up with his smile.

“You know, muggles have the superstition that says if people yawn at the same time, they’re connected.”

She fell silent at that. The implication hit her head-on.

_ He was implying they were connected. _

Somehow, that didn’t make her feel as uneasy as she thought it would.

He realized what he said a moment later and groaned. His palm muffled his words. “Ignore me. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m exhausted.”

To save both of them from further embarrassment, Clarke spoke, shifting the conversation once again. “I don’t know much about muggle things.” She desperately searched for an example, and her eyes fell on the television in the corner of the room. “Like that,” she said, pointing. Blake followed her gesture. “I don’t understand how it’s possible. How can people be performing all the time? Doesn’t it get—”

“What?” Blake sat up straighter, the exhaustion disappearing from him. “What did you say?”

Clarke glanced at him wearily. “I just asked how people can be performing live all the time? They should be tired, right?” He looked shocked, so she continued. “I mean… Harper told me it wasn’t like portraits. She said something about waves, but the ocean…” She felt stupid. Her face fell to her hands. “Merlin, never mind.”

“No, no.” Blake was eager. “You’re not kidding, are you? You don’t know how the television works?”

She glared at him from between her fingers, but it didn’t have the same heat as it once did. “I’m not kidding.”

His expression softened. She wanted to throw a pillow at his head and to tell him not to pity her.

He surprised her though. Blake puffed out his cheeks and settled back into the armchair. “I don’t either,” he admitted. “Not really, anyways.”

Her mouth fell shut. “Uh. What?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s too complicated for me. Raven probably knows, but…” He blew out a long breath. “They aren’t performing live, though. It’s taped and then broadcasted. They aren’t actually performing as we see it.”

She furrowed her eyebrows and glanced at the black box. “So… it’s not like a play?”

“Not really.” He pushed out of the armchair and went to a cupboard beside the television. “They’re all actors, but this isn’t live. They record themselves and then distribute it. Ah, here it is.” He stepped away from the cupboard, holding a thick tape. He moved to sit beside her.

“What is this?”

“These are recordings of movies. You know what movies are?” She shook her head no. “Well, they’re like… they’re like plays, I guess. They can be any genre.”

“Genre?” 

Blake looked excited. It reminded Clarke of a boy in a candy shop. “Shit. I guess I never really thought of how purebloods aren’t exposed to this.” He quickly continued. “Not like it makes you stupid or ignorant. You just… it’s a different culture.”

As he explained movies and television to her, she watched his face closely. His face would light up with excitement every few seconds when he remembered a new fact. She liked how his eyes sparkled with joy, and she could see the clear passion in them. He was fascinating to watch, and she would’ve been more than happy to watch him talk about muggle culture all day.

He stopped after rambling for a few minutes. “Shit. I’m talking too much.” A mask slipped over his features, and she instantly felt loss.

“No,” she quickly assured him. “This is new. It’s interesting. I’m glad to know the ocean has nothing to do with television.”

Blake smirked. “ _ Radio  _ waves do, but not  _ ocean  _ waves. I think.” 

She couldn’t help but smirk back at him. “Right.”

They fell into silence again. She tried to keep her eyes off of his face, so she examined the tapes in his hands closely. 

Just as the silence was about to get awkward, he spoke.

“We can watch one?” he offered. “They’re good ways to pass the time.” She felt his eyes on her face. “That is, if you don’t want to go back to bed yet.”

She met his eyes. “It’s not about  _ wanting  _ to go back to bed,” she said slowly. “I just… I want to give Reyes some time alone.”

Blake studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Probably for the best. She isn’t a heavy sleeper.”

Clarke watched him as he went to put a movie on. She never noticed how his forehead creased with thought before. She tried not to take notice how her heart jumped in her chest when he bit his lip in concentration, or when his hand ran through his curls.

She hid her surprise well when he came and fell into the couch beside her, abandoning his armchair completely. She shifted further away from him and towards the armrest, curling up in the corner spot. 

Quiet music flowed from the television, and that captured her attention easily. It was amazing to watch all the colours flow together. It looked so real — all the way from the sky, to the streets, to the conversations. 

It was breathtaking.

What was even more breathtaking was the man beside her. She couldn’t help but sneak glances at him every few minutes, trying to gauge his emotions. Now that he wasn’t trying to argue with her all of the time, he didn’t wear the same mask around her.

His true expressions were softer. More carefree. More genuine.

It was like a breath of fresh air. 

When the main character in the movie entered a school, she remembered pieces of their conversation a few days ago. “Have you always wanted to be a professor?” she asked, breaking the easy silence.

He genuinely looked shocked at her question. The expression faded quickly. “Uhm…”

She felt her confidence waver. “I mean, that’s what you said, right? That’s what you want to do when you’re older?”

“No, yeah, you’re right. I’m just surprised…” He shook his head, dismissing whatever he was thinking. “I don’t really know though. For a long time, that’s what I’ve wanted to do, and it’s the first thing I’ve been serious about.” He was watching her closely, and she met his gaze. His eyebrows were still pushed together in thought. “You remembered from the game?”

“Yeah. I did.” She smirked at him, feeling brave in the moment. “I’m not as stuck up as you thought, huh?”

His eyes widened. “What!? No, I—”

She reached over and poked his shoulder. She didn’t know what made her so comfortable around him, and she blamed it on being exhausted. “It was a joke. A bad one, I’ll admit, but I’m trying to be funny.”

Blake softened at that. While she expected him to reply in the same tone her question was asked, he turned serious. 

His lips were parted and she could see the faintest hint of a smile on them. His eyes were locked intently on her face, but she couldn’t read the emotion in them.

“No,” he said slowly. “You’re not what I expected.” 

Clarke didn’t want to go down this road again — with the apologies and the awkwardness — so she turned back to the movie.

She was slow to admit it, but the words carried the same weight Blake’s did.

“You’re not what I expected either.”

She turned her focus completely back to the movie, trying to put Blake to the back of her mind. 

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the  _ want  _ she felt. 

She  _ wanted  _ to see his smile again, and she  _ wanted  _ to see him without the mask, and she  _ wanted  _ to know more about him.

She wondered if he felt the same way about her.

.

Clarke wasn’t sure when it happened, but the next thing she remembered was the morning. 

She woke lazily. The sun was warm on her face. The blanket tucked around her shoulders made her want to stay in bed all day. Her back and neck were stiff, and it reminded her of the days she would fall asleep in the common room studying.

Her eyes flew open. Shit.

Clarke sat up immediately and her gaze shot around the room. She was in the living space, and the memories from the previous night came back to her. 

Reyes’ nightmares. Blake’s laughs. Their conversation. The teasing. The movie.

_ She must’ve fallen asleep during the movie. _

Clarke glanced down at the blanket in her lap and she felt confused. She didn’t remember grabbing one, but—

_ Oh _ . 

She froze when she realized that she  _ didn’t  _ grab one; she didn’t even know where they were stored.

Bellamy did though.

Bellamy knew where Kane kept the extra blankets. Bellamy must’ve been the one to drape the blanket over her. 

She fell back onto the couch, her heart racing in her chest. This time, she couldn’t blame the action on adrenaline.

Clarke’s eyes fell back onto the table, where a full glass of water sat. She couldn’t suppress a smile and she couldn’t ignore the way her chest grew warm.

She was right earlier. 

Bellamy wasn’t what she expected. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew okay so yeah this is a chapter I’ve been looking forward to FOREVER. finally making movement with them. I’m so beyond happy they aren’t enemies/rivals anymore, but are working towards something else.
> 
> hmmmm wonder what they’re working towards.
> 
> anyways, thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are REAAAAAALLY appreciated!
> 
> Paw


	10. Chapter 9: An Almost Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: don’t progress their relationship too fast!! slow burn!!  
> Also me: fuck it, they need to GET IT TOGETHER and fall in love already!!
> 
> I adore all the comments left on the last few chapters and usually I’m better at responding, but I haven’t been on a desktop in a very long time, so I’m leaving the responses until then. Please know that I have read and adored all comments left!!
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ November 8, 1997 _

* * *

“Relax. Everything will be okay.”

Even though Clarke spoke the words, she didn’t quite believe them herself. 

She watched closely as Bellamy continued to pace. She was perched on the armrest of the couch, her chin resting on her knee. While her posture may have seemed relaxed, she was anything but.

Reyes, Harper, and Monty were seated around the living area, too. Harper was nervously tapping her foot and kept glancing at the clock above the television.

Monty, on the other hand, was focused on building a muggle contraption in his lap. His fingers flew wildly over the pieces of wood as he put together a miniature toy. At first, she thought that he was distant from the panic gripping all of them, but then she realized he was so focused because he was so scared.

Reyes was similar to her. She was sitting in the armchair, watching Bellamy pace. Her wand was in her hands, and she kept glancing at the front door. 

“We need to do something,” Bellamy said after a long moment. He paused in his pacing and turned to the group. “We can’t just sit here.”

“We have to,” Harper insisted. She looked sick with worry. “It’s what we were told. It’s what he would have wanted us to do.”

The  _ he  _ that Harper was referring to was Kane.

_ Kane was missing. _

It pained Clarke to admit that fact, but it was the truth. Kane was supposed to be back on Saturday, at nine in the morning.

She glanced up at the clock. It was two in the afternoon.

The knot grew in her stomach.

“He’s out there somewhere, and we’re sitting around like it’s any other Saturday,” Bellamy snapped. He blew out a long breath and looked apologetically at Harper. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you. You’re right.”

“You’re right, too,” she insisted. “I don’t like just sitting around, waiting.”

Clarke ran her thumb along the grain of the wood of her wand. While Kane was only five hours late, they were in the middle of a war. Any other time, and she wouldn’t have thought twice about being a few hours late.

_ But it was Kane.  _ He was hiding half a dozen criminals in a safe house. He was part of a secret resistance. He didn’t agree with the Dark Lord’s cause.

They all knew that he was risking his life by just keeping them safe. He knew it, too, but he still did it. The risk of death has always been there, but nobody ever thought it would actually happen.

Now, it was all they could think about.

“We shouldn’t have let him go,” Monty murmured. “He should’ve stayed.”

“It is his job,” Reyes cut in. She didn’t look too happy speaking those words. “I wish he could’ve stayed, but him refusing to travel for business might’ve put him more at risk. It would’ve been suspicious.”

“He could’ve lied,” Clarke pointed out. “Faked sick, broke a leg — I don’t know.”

Bellamy began pacing again. “This isn’t helping,” he said under his breath. He ran his hand over his face. She could see the tension in his shoulders. “Talking about what  _ should’ve  _ happened isn’t going to change the present.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice exhausted. “It just feels better thinking of solutions, even if they aren’t  _ actual _ solutions.”

The room fell silent at that, each lost in their own thoughts. The ticking of the clock felt like torture. With each passing second, the more worried they got.

“What would actually happen to him if he was caught?” Harper spoke up. She looked like she was going to get sick any second. “It… it wouldn’t be that bad, right? They’d send him to Azkaban?”

Clarke glanced away from her, suddenly not being able to look her. Azkaban would be a mercy on Kane if he was ever captured. Her hope and optimism was naive.

His fate would be worse. Much worse.

“I don’t know,” Bellamy answered. “You’re right though. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe…” He blew out a long breath. His eyes settled on her. “I need water.” He glanced at the group. “Anyone need water?”

The rest of the group lifted their hands in response. Before anyone else could speak, Clarke was standing. 

“I’ll help carry,” she offered.

She doubted Bellamy saw through that statement, but the rest of the room must’ve, as they didn’t speak up.

Her offering to help carry water wasn’t as innocent as that. She wanted to talk to Bellamy. She had a feeling that he wanted to talk to her too.

Bellamy locked eyes with her, and something flickered across his face. Exhaustion, maybe? Vulnerability? As quick as it was there, it was gone again, and he was moving towards the door that led to the kitchen.

It was only a few seconds later that Clarke entered the kitchen, but she was surprised at how much he had changed in that short period of time.

Both of his palms rested flat against the countertop and his head hung low. She was right earlier. He was exhausted.

She watched him for a few seconds and debated on saying something to let him know she was behind him. She didn’t want to frighten him by her appearance, and she didn’t want him to feel awkward that she saw him at this low point — with the walls down.

_ But he knew she was coming behind him,  _ didn’t he? He knew that she was following after him, that she would only take a few seconds to come into the kitchen.

It hit her. He was allowing his walls to drop. He was allowing himself to be open and vulnerable, even though she was right behind him. He was okay with her seeing him like this.

That realization impacted her more than it should’ve. Her throat grew tight and her chest filled with warmth.

_ He was starting to trust her. _

She brushed the emotions off quickly. Now wasn’t the time to think about trust, or friendships. Now was the time to think about Kane, and plan, and work together.

“I need you to be honest,” he said suddenly, startling her. He didn’t spin to face her. “What will happen to him?”

Her heart fell to her stomach and she felt sick. She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to burden him or add to his growing worries. 

Still, Clarke shot a silencing spell at the door to the kitchen, giving the two of them privacy. She didn’t want anyone else to hear. She didn’t want to make them worry any more than they already were.

“You don’t want to know,” she told him as she stowed her wand. She stepped further into the kitchen, slowly approaching him.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. His jaw was locked in determination. “I do. I need to know.”

“It’s bad,” she warned him. “You don’t need to know this. There’s peace that comes with ignorance.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “Please,” he asked, his voice strained. “I need to know.”

Clarke averted her gaze at that. She stepped up to the counter beside him and leaned her back against it.

She didn’t want to tell him, but he deserved the truth if he wanted it.

She snuck a glance in his direction. He was staring at her in a way that made her feel like he was peering into her soul. She tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. 

“It depends on what they know,” she finall said. “And it depends on who found him.”

Bellamy nodded stiffly. He had turned his body to the side, so his hip was pushed against the counter to face her.

“Worst case scenario. Give it to me.”

She wanted to lie to him. She wished that she could look at him and lie, because he didn’t deserve the truthful answer. He didn’t deserve all the pain and the worry and the disgust that came with it.

But she couldn’t lie to him. Not about this. Not about something he so clearly cared about — something that he was nearly begging her for.

Clarke pushed herself up so she was sitting on the counter, not trusting her legs to hold her upright without shaking.

“Worst case scenario depends on who you ask,” she said. “A lot of things could go wrong. Death Eater’s could’ve found him. Snatchers, maybe. Death Eaters would be worse, I think, but it’s hard to say.” She tilted her head. “Death Eaters themselves could’ve found him, although I don’t know why they would be looking for him if they didn’t already know the truth. If somehow they found out everything he’s done, they would take him somewhere to be tortured for information.”

Bellamy’s shoulders tensed. Clarke wanted to reach out and touch him, to try and sooth him and promise him that this wasn’t going to happen to him.

She couldn’t lie to him though. She couldn’t promise things that she couldn’t control.

“They’re going to want to know who he’s been hiding and where we are. Worst case, he doesn’t spill.”

His eyebrows flew up at that. “Worst case?” he questioned. “We don’t want him to give us up. We don’t—”

“If he doesn’t give up information, things get worse,” she cut him off. “Tight lips make the torture worse. They won’t relent until they have something from him.” She snuck a glance up him. “Although, if he tells the truth and says that  _ I’m here,  _ then…”

She fell silent, suddenly losing the ability to speak. The more that she said out loud, the more scared she got. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest; it was all she could hear, all she could feel.

Bellamy saved her from having to continue. “Your mother?” She could feel her chin trembling — with fear, with disgust, with dread. She has spiralled completely, and was seconds away from breaking down into tears. “Kane said you’re being hunted. You said that she’s looking for you.”

She managed a nod. “Yeah.” Clarke still couldn’t look at him. Her fingers were shaking against her lap. She clenched her fists to try and stop the tremble. “If she finds out he knows where I am, it’ll get worse.” Her nails dug into the palm of her hand. “She wants to know where I am, and if she has someone who knows, she’ll do anything to get that info. If she gets him, then she’ll know.” Finally, she looked at him. “She’ll come here. She’ll— Fuck. She’ll come here, and—”

“You’ll be safe,” Bellamy promised her. He shocked her by reaching out and gently taking hold of her trembling fist. She almost broke into pieces at the action. Their eyes met in a desperate gaze. “If she comes here, we’ll all keep you safe.”

She shook her head. Tears were burning in her eyes. Her throat was tight. “No. She won’t just come here to take me. She’ll come here to kill you all.” She turned her hand in his to grasp at his fingers. “You realize that, don’t you? If she finds me, she’ll kill you all.”

His expression didn’t waver. “She won’t find you.” He squeezed her hand gently and ran his thumb along the back of it. She never would’ve guessed such a simple action would be so soothing. “What if she doesn’t find out? What about Kane?”

She was thankful he pulled away from the topic. It was easier to talk about anything other than her mother and the deaths of all their friends.

“He’ll still be tortured. Maybe they’ll kill him. That’ll be best case. Worst case, they’ll keep him alive until he spills.”

His touch was calming. She never wanted to pull away. “Okay. Worst case, they torture him for information, they come here for us. Best case, they only murder him.”

When he put it like that, it felt like the world was falling from beneath her feet. She felt like she was falling into a cave filled with darkness.

She struggled to swallow. “Right.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Her eyes were blazing when she looked at him. “Thank you!? For what?” She was close to breaking into pieces — close to falling into hysterics. “What I told you is horrifying, and you’re thanking me!?”

His voice kept calm. “I’m thanking you because I know it must be hard to talk about.” He managed a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

With that, he pulled away from her. The loss of his touch and his closeness made her feel open and vulnerable. She felt like an exposed nerve in the breeze.

Quickly, she sucked in a breath and pushed all her emotions down.

_ Survive first.  _ Screw her emotions and her fears. She needed to focus on logic and actions.

_ They had to survive. _

Bellamy must’ve been thinking about the same thing. “What do we do? How do we get out of this?”

She didn’t want to keep telling him the hard truths, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I don’t know.” They locked eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

He nodded simply. She could read it on his face; he was terrified. 

“Kane left you in charge,” she said. She tried to keep her voice strong, even though moments before, she was about to break into pieces. He gave her strength then.  _ Now it was her turn. _

“And I don’t know what to do.” He looked like he was on the edge of panic.

“You know best.” She caught his eyes and tried to show her confidence in him. “We trust you.”

He held her gaze. “Even you?” he questioned after a beat. “Do you trust me?”

_ Did she _ ?

She paused to think about that. She remembered how she thought of him when she thought they were being attacked. 

She thought about when he rushed into the room when Reyes was having a nightmare, and how relieved she was when it was him and he was okay. 

She thought of how she fell asleep while talking about muggle things with him — how, even subconsciously, she trusted him enough to relax and sleep. She didn’t have to keep her guard up, she didn’t have to watch him, she didn’t have to worry around him. 

She thought of how his smile made her feel warm and his laugh made her feel like she was floating. 

And she thought of him, only moments ago. How she let herself get close to falling apart with fear and anguish, how she found strength with his touches and his words. She thought of how she yearned to return that strength to him, how she wanted to be the support that he was to her.

“Yes,” she said, no hesitation in her voice. “I trust you, Bellamy. We all do.”

It was the first time she spoke his name out loud. His name felt natural on her lips, like she’d been saying it forever. 

It was a beautiful name. Unique, just like him.

He held her gaze for a long moment. 

“Alright,” he finally said. His face was turning to stone. She could see determination, strength, and courage seeping into him. “We need to go. We need to be ready for the worst case scenarios.”

Clarke swallowed thickly. “My mother?”

He gave her a strong look. “She isn’t coming,” he promised. “But we need to be prepared for someone learning about the safe house. We need to go.” 

He didn’t wait for her response. He turned on his heel and quickly strode away from her, back to the others in the living area. 

“We need to go,” he ordered. She exited the kitchen only moments after him and saw all the shocked expressions of the remaining three. “Pack your things. Only get what you can fit into one bag. We leave in five minutes. Is that clear?”

Reyes stood up. “Why? What’s going on?”

“We don’t know what happened to Kane. We don’t know how safe this place is anymore. We need to go.”

Nobody questioned him. As Clarke watched the group do as instructed, she couldn’t help but glance at Bellamy, a glimmer of pride filling her.

This was why Kane left him in charge. This was why he was the head of the group during training.

Bellamy was a leader, and the thought of her standing beside him during battle didn’t disgust her like it once did.

.

Not even five minutes later, Clarke realized she didn’t own much.

She owned the clothes on her body, her snake locket, the jacket she wore when she arrived, and her wand. Harper gave her another set of clothing, which she tucked easily into a muggle back bag from Kane. She had a few books, too — more than what she had when she first arrived, since Kane told her to take whatever she wanted from his make-shift library. A few quills for writing, a bundle of parchment, and a few gold coins. 

Other than that, she didn’t own anything.

She was packed and ready to leave within thirty seconds of getting to her room. The rest of the time, she spent beside Reyes, shoving items into a similar muggle bag to her own.

“Did Bellamy day where we’re going?” the older girl asked. Clarke shook her head. “Right then. Probably Kingsley’s.”

Another knot had been developing in her stomach, but hearing Reyes talk about  _ what next  _ sent Clarke over the edge.

Her hands paused as she reached for Reyes’ stack of books. Just like earlier, her fingers were trembling.

_ What was going to happen to her? _

She didn’t want her to see something was wrong, so she moved forward. With shaking hands, she grabbed the stack of books and dropped them into the bag.

Clarke apparently wasn’t as good of an actress as she thought she was. Reyes eyed her carefully. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said. “I just… I realized what exactly is happening.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

It wasn’t exactly the truth, either.

Clarke was thinking about the fact that she was a Griffin. No matter where she ran, or who she was with, that would always be the case. Strangers would run from her, others would be hesitant, suspicion would follow her. 

She wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else. It was already a miracle that Kane let her into the safe house. No way in hell that would happen for a second time.

_ She was going to have to leave the group.  _ If they were all going to Kingsley, and he was an Order member, then he wouldn’t let her into his safe house. She was a risk, and she didn’t have McGonagall vouching for her like she had been with Kane.

The room was spinning. Despite being alone for so long before she came to Kane’s, she’d grown used to being in a house with so many people. The prospect of going back to being alone was sickening.

She was going to have to say goodbye to Harper, and Monty, and Reyes, and Bellamy.

Clarke never expected the day to come where she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to people she once considered enemies.

“Time to go!” Bellamy shouted up the stairs. Reyes pushed up from the ground and shouldered her bag.

“Wait!” Clarke called before she could exit the room. The two girls turned to face each other. She didn’t want to say goodbye, but she couldn’t let her leave without something. “I, uh… I wanted to say thank you. For being here for me.”

If she was never going to see her again, she wanted her to know. 

Reyes looked confused, but answered anyway. “You don’t have to thank me. We’re a team.”

She managed a tiny nod and, with that, Reyes left. Clarke gripped her wand and put the bag on her back. As she was about to leave the room, her eyes caught sight of a rainbow package on her desk.

She paused at the doorway and glanced at the package of sugar quills. Her mind immediately drifted to the person who gave her the candy, and his apology, and his promises to her.

_ “I wanted to take a step to show you that I will try. I promise, Griffin, I’m going to try to make up for what I’ve said — for what I’ve assumed. This isn’t me trying to erase everything. This is my promise to you that I’m going to do better.” _

Her heart clenched. Her and Bellamy were doing good. They were finally moving on, they were working together to something better — just like  _ she  _ promised. 

_ “We need to be allies. If we want to have any hope of coming out of this war alive, we need to do it together.” _

In a way, those sugar quills represented the promises they made. To her, they were a start to their bond.

They were moving towards a good friendship — one with laughing, and teasing, and trust — but they’d never get there fully.

They were separating.

When Bellamy called for everyone again, her hand darted out and snatched the package of sugar quills from her desk. She didn’t know why the thought of leaving them behind made her heart ache.

Bellamy was in front of the fire place in the living room, and the other three had gathered with their bags. 

He stood with squared his shoulders and lifted his head, showing so much strength. It was the strength that the group needed. None of them knew what was going to happen, and they latched onto the courage he had.

His eyes dropped down to the sugar quills in her hand. She was too panicked to feel awkward by his questioning glance. Instead, she simply slid the package into her wand pocket.

“We’re going to head to Kindsley’s now,” Bellamy said as soon as she was standing with the group. “I’m going to unlock the floo when we’re about to leave, but not a moment sooner. The wards are to remain up, no matter what. If we all don’t get out before something happens, get out by running to the edge of the property and aparating away.”

Reyes stepped forward to talk to Bellamy. As she did, Clarke stepped closer to Harper and slipped her bag off.

“Hey,” the Hufflepuff greeted. She eyed Clarke’s bag. “What’s going on?”

“I’m giving your clothes back,” she said. 

If she wasn’t able to come with them to the next house, she didn’t want to steal her clothes. Now was the only opportunity to give them back.

Harper looked confused. “What? No, they’re yours now.”

“I’m only borrowing them, and now's my chance to give them back.”

She looked even more confused. “I don’t understand. You can have them outside of Kane’s house. You can wear them at Kingsley’s, or—”

“No.”

Reyes’ voice was so strong that it startled Clarke. Her grip tightened on her wand and she flinched.

She looked at the older girl. “What?”

“I said no.” She strode up to Clarke, her eyes hard as stone. For a moment, Clarke could’ve sworn that she was going to hex her. Fuck, did she really not want her to come to the next house with them?

“Reyes—” Clarke started to say as she took a half-step back.

The older girl’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Her grip was tight, but not painfully so.

“I know what you’re doing,” Reyes hissed, her voice nearing a whisper. 

Clarke didn’t have a doubt in her mind that she was telling the truth.

“Raven, what are you doing? We have to—”

The older girl spun around to face Bellamy. The intensity in her eyes must’ve shocked him enough to stop talking. 

“She isn’t planning on coming with us. She’s trying to run away.” Reyes turned to her, her eyes narrowed. “Am I right?”

Clarke snuck a glance over Reyes’ shoulder. For a brief moment, she locked eyes with Bellamy. Before she could figure out what he was thinking, she looked away.

“First, you were weird in the room — it was like you were saying goodbye,” she said. “Now, you’re giving Harper back her clothes. What next? Were you going to be the last one to use the floo, so you could slip away?”

She didn’t want to admit it, but that was exactly what she was planning.

“Slip away?” Clarke turned back to face Reyes. “You make it sound like I have a choice!”

Her eyebrows pushed together. “I don’t understand. Of course you have a choice.”

“I wouldn’t be leaving if I didn’t have to,” she said again. “No matter who this is, they’re not going to let me in. They’re going to see my hair, and hear my name, and that will be that.”

“But Kane let you stay, he—”

“He got a personal message from McGonagall about me. Kingsley hasn’t. Nobody has.” She glanced at the front door. She was half expecting it to be blown down any second. “You guys go. It’ll be fine.”

Reyes’ grip tightened. “We aren’t going without you.  You’re stuck with us now, Griffin,” she said fiercely. “You’re one of us. If they won’t accept you, we’ll all find somewhere else that will. We’re sticking together.”

“She’s right. We’re all staying together,” Bellamy said. His eyes turned to hers. “Kingsley’s a nice man. I’ve met him before. He knows me. He’ll take my word for you.”

Her heart fluttered at that. He was willing to put himself on the line for her.

_ They all were. _

“Yeah, we’ll vouch for you,” Harper insisted. “All of us will. We’ll—”

They all heard it. It was the distinct sound of someone apparating nearby.

She froze in fear. It was only out of pure instinct that she dropped her backpack and pointed her wand at the front door. One of the other four already managed to cast a shield charm.

Her eyes flicked to the group, all of which had their wands drawn and pointed at the front door. Blue light was bursting from Monty’s wand. He’d been the one to cast the shield charm.

It was too late to come up with a plan; she could hear someone at the front door. Just as she was preparing to cast a hex, Reyes’ face lit up.

“It’s him,” she said. It looked like she could cry. “Kane.” 

“How—”

“The keys. He has the keys.” She lowered her wand and went sprinting towards the front door. Relief spread through the group like wildfire. 

Only when the front door opened and Kane stepped through, did Clarke relax and lower her wand. Relief crashed into her and, once again, she found herself shaking.

Reyes was pulling Kane into a hug while she yelled at him for being late. Harper and Monty clung to each other, both too exhausted to stand alone.

And then there was Bellamy. He stood beside her, his shoulder just brushing hers. She smiled slightly as they both watched their friends fawn over their mentor.

“Glad he’s safe,” she said. “Anything else would’ve been bad.”

“Yeah.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Were you really planning on leaving us?”

She didn’t try to hide her gaze. She looked at him head-on. “There wasn’t another way. Were you really going to vouch for me?”

He mirrored her movement. “There wasn’t another way,” he echoed. They both grinned. “Besides, I’m not letting you break your promise that easily.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What promise?”

“We’re in this together.”

Her lips parted the slightest bit from shock. Bellamy looked smug at her reaction, but said nothing.

With that, he left her to go welcome Kane home. She watched him walk away from her, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

Bellamy Blake made her feel like she was floating on air, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like clarke and Bellamy are progressing fast but uhhhhhhh I don’t even care that much because I want these two idiots to fall in love. 
> 
> Also!!!! I realized I should probably say — I have 3 chapters after this planned for this fic. The original plan was to split the overall story into two separate fics (the first one being this (fall/winter 1997), the second one including events from spring 1998). I’m now debating on squishing these two fics into one!! I’m still unsure. Regardless of what I choose, there will still be a few chapters found in this fic, and then ~10 more to wrap things up. I don’t even know if this makes sense but UH long story short, we’re good :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Paw


	11. Chapter 10: Lose Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful friend [Hannah](https://daddyrheeig.tumblr.com/) is super talented and made some art that relates to this fic!!! It is ACTUAL perfection. You can see it [here](https://twitter.com/daddyrheeig/status/1158987717683793920)!
> 
> That being said, if anyone ever creates any fanart for this fanfic, let me know!!!!! I’ll love you forever and link out to it!!!!!
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_November 14, 1997_

* * *

“I see you and Blake have worked things out?”

Kane’s voice startled her. She jumped the and inhaled some of the water from her canister. As she sputtered, Kane only looked at her in mild amusement.

“What?” she managed to get out between her coughs.

She had been sitting alone in the training room, watching as Bellamy and Harper discussed something in detail. While she couldn’t hear their conversation, it was obvious that he was trying to teach her a new spell, by the way he kept adjusting her grip on her wand and showing her the wand movements slowly.

In a strange way, it made her heart warm to see him so in his element. She never got to see him like this before — so open, so intense, so determined. She always did her best to ignore him during the down time of training, and she regretted missing so many opportunities to see him so free and happy.

“I noticed you and Blake have been getting along,” Kane said again. He dropped onto the bench beside her and took a sip from his own water canister.

“I mean, yeah. Bellamy’s alright.” Clarke eyed him suspiciously. He’d barely been in the house over the last week, having loose ends to tie up at the office, so she couldn’t figure out when he managed to see them interacting.

“Bellamy, hey?” he pushed. Clarke bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know when she started thinking of him by his first name, but it felt _natural_ now. Looking at him and thinking ‘Blake’ made a discomfort rise in her. “I’m more perceptive than you give me credit for,” Kane said after a moment. Clarke looked away from him quickly. “It’s a quality you have too, right?”

It felt like he was digging for something. While his words may have seemed innocent, she felt like there was something else to them.

 _You pay attention, don’t you?_ his words seemed to say. _You watch the others in the house, silently observing them. Planning. Calculating._

She’d heard it all before. Slytherin carried the reputation of observing so they could take control, so they could manipulate people. 

She tried to brush off his comment and shrugged. “Maybe.”

He laughed and bumped her shoulder. “You don’t need to lie to me, Clarke. We’re both in tune to the people around us. We sometimes know them better than we know ourselves.” Instead of answering him, she sipped slowly on her water and kept her eyes locked on Bellamy. “It’s a Slytherin quality, you know.”

 _That_ caught her off guard.

For the second time, she sputtered her water. Kane laughed again, louder this time, and it drew the attention of Bellamy. He watched the two of them, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

Clarke whipped her head around, her eyes wild when they came to rest of Kane. “What!?” she hissed, trying her best to tune out Bellamy. She must’ve misunderstood. There was no way in hell that he was implying what she thought he was. “Are you… Did you…”

“I didn’t think it would be this much of a shock,” he admitted. 

She gawked at him. “So, I’m right? I didn’t misunderstand?”

Kane smirked. “You’re right. I’m a Slytherin.”

Clarke sat up straighter and looked at him in bewilderment. She didn't understand. “But… Reyes and Bellamy… When I got here, they—”

“Didn’t know,” he said quickly. “Being a Slytherin alumni isn’t something I hide, but it’s not something I talk about freely.” He glanced away from her. “I wasn’t going to tell them unless they asked me. As you know, our house isn’t always looked at in the best light.”

Clarke snorted. “Understatement of the century.” She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She was seeing her mentor in a new light and she felt like she understood him better. Things were starting to fall into place now. “That’s why you accepted me,” she realized. “Because you knew that not all of us are evil.”

“I like to think I would’ve accepted you regardless of my own house, but, yes, my personal experience helped.” He lifted his eyebrows. “That’s also why I’m able to stay at the ministry for so long. I know a lot of the people in charge now, from when I was at school. They wouldn’t suspect one of their own to be hiding a bunch of fugitives in their secret safe house.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her brain struggling to comprehend the new knowledge. Then, she doubled over and laughed.

“Merlin,” she breathed. “You’re such a badass, Kane.” He laughed with her at that. “Fuck, I can’t believe this. You’re so much cooler than you were five minutes ago.”

He managed to laugh harder. “I’ll try to take that as a compliment.”

“I’m serious!” She turned to him, her eyes wide with joy. “They think you’re one of them, but they’re so wrong. Oh, Merlin, that’s great. A true Slytherin,” she teased.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Looks like we have more in common than you thought. You did the exact same.” That cut her laugh short and she looked away. “The others don’t know. I’ll tell them tonight at dinner, but I wanted you to know first. You’re not alone in this war.”

She turned somber at that. Her heart clenched and her throat tightened. 

“I know,” she said. Her eyes flicked back to Bellamy. She watched as he laughed and her heart filled with affection. “I don’t think I ever really was.”

He clapped a hand on her shoulder and stood. “Well, whatever happened while I was away, I'm glad we’re all on friendly terms now.” As he walked away from her, he continued to speak. “I guess we’ll see how helpful that’s going to be in a bit.”

Her eyes turned to him. “What?”

He pointed out at the Quidditch pitch. “You two are up first.”

Kane called everyone to attention, and Clarke watched him with newfound interest. Everyone looked at him with so much respect. 

They followed him, they trusted him.

It astonished her. When she defected from the Dark Lord’s side, all she expected was to run away and lay low until the war was over. She never expected to be taken into a safe house, and she never expected to bond with the people there.

She did those things though, and she thought that was enough. She thought it was already a small miracle that she was here, that she was friendly with people on the opposite side of the war than she was brought up on.

She didn’t think she’d ever get anything more than that.

No matter what happened, she would always be a Slytherin, and she’d always be a Griffin, and she’d always have connections to Death Eaters. Those things were like shadows that followed her around.

Nobody could look past them.

 _Except, they did with Kane._ Whoever was in charge of the Order must’ve known his Hogwarts house, yet they accepted him and trusted him. They would’ve been aware that he kept associating with Death Eaters, but they didn’t trust him less for that.

The others in the safe house might not know his Hogwarts house, but they respected and looked up to him. _People outside of Slytherin looked up to him — they followed him._

They trusted him. 

She was completely thrown by this. She never once considered that she could be more than anything except an outsider. She never once thought there was a possibility that people would trust her, and look up to her, and _follow_ her.

But they did with Kane. It was hard to wrap her mind around it. She’d dismissed those ideas entirely, but now there was living proof in front of her.

_She could be more than she thought._

She didn’t have to be limited by her name, or her past, or her house.

If he could do it, then she could too, right? If he could go beyond Hogwarts houses, then there was hope for her.

She wouldn’t always have to be an outsider. She didn’t have to hide in the shadows. She didn’t have to abide by the stereotypes, or tread lightly on eggshells so she didn’t disturb anything. 

The idea was liberating.

“Hey,” Bellamy greeted. He had shed his sweater from earlier and gripped his wand, ready for their training exercise. He studied her closely. “Are you good?”

She let out a breathless laugh and glanced up at him. She couldn’t hide her smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m great.”

He cocked his head to this side. “Happy about something? It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” he teased. 

She snorted and teased right back. “No, that was last month. I just… I’m happy.”

“Good. Happy is good.” He twirled his wand and glanced out at the pitch. “Alright, what’s going to be our tactic?”

 _That_ was different. They usually didn’t speak before the simulation, never mind _plan_ together _._ Then again, they hadn’t exactly been on the best terms before. This was the first time they were going to be doing the simulation together after they sorted out their differences. 

Clarke tried to hide her surprise at his question. “You probably have a better idea than I do,” she said. “You’ve been running this longer.”

“And you have a fresh set of eyes. I get set in my way. You change it up. What do you think needs to happen?”

She didn’t know. Sure, she’d been good in school, but it was a whole different thing to apply that knowledge to the real world. She knew how to write good papers, but planning for an attack? Clarke didn’t have the most experience in that area.

Still, she lifted her head high and scanned the dusty field. Her and Bellamy only managed to move a few meters over the last month — it was a world away from the half-way mark the group managed to reach before she arrived.

She wanted to do better this time. Things were different with them, and she felt a swell of confidence building inside of her — both from Kane’s truth, and from standing in solidarity with her partner.

“You take the lead,” she said after a moment. “You’re used to doing the offensive magic. I can take up defense.”

She knew it was a risky suggestion. After all, while she didn’t have to trust him to keep her safe, _he_ had to trust _her_. The only thing standing between him and a stunner would be her shield charms.

He’d have to trust her completely. 

She wasn’t sure if they were ready for that yet. 

“Sounds good,” he said easily. She tried to hide her surprise at that by biting her lip and glancing away. “I’m going to stick to Reducto curses. No cutting charms.”

“My arms thank you,” she said. To show that she was joking with him, she bumped their shoulders together. They both laughed, like it was a private joke just the two of them shared.

In a way, that was true.

 _Fuck_. Who would’ve guessed that she would be joking around with Bellamy Blake about something they were both angry and upset about less than a month before?

Kane clapped his hands. “You two almost ready?”

Simultaneously, they both nodded.

As the simulation began firing up, Bellamy’s gaze darted around the room and he shifted on his feet. He was ready to strike at any moment’s notice.

She turned her attention to the room, too. Her eyes flitted across the black boxes lining the walls, her eyes never pausing for a second. She rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, ready to move as Bellamy did.

Her breathing was shallow, the grip on her wand light, the incantation for a shield charm on the tip of her tongue. She was highly aware of Bellamy beside her — all the way from the way he shifted, to his breathing, to where he glanced. 

When Kane called for them to go, they sprang forward. Before Bellamy could cast his first spell, a shield was bursting from the tip of her wand. The translucent blue shield went up seconds before the first incoming stunner hit.

He side stepped and raced forward with Clarke on his heels. Her head swivelled around, trying to see the whole room at once. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a red light streaming towards them. She cast another shield as they ran. Once again, she got it up just in time.

She waited for Bellamy to fire a spell. The steams of light coming from his wand were red and blue, as he varied his attacks.

Her head hurt from trying to keep up. 

This went on for a solid minute — running, dodging, casting shields — but she was growing tired. She could barely get a shield up by the time she could see the spells coming towards them.

Clarke gritted her teeth. She needed to focus. Bellamy was trusting her and she didn’t want to screw up.

_She needed to change tactics._

She was spending so much time watching where the spells were firing from, watching as Bellamy countered with his own spells, and actively paying attention to where and how they ran. 

She couldn’t do it all. She _shouldn’t_ do it all.

Here, she was asking Bellamy to trust her completely, yet she wasn’t returning the same. 

Clarke needed to let go of some control. She needed to believe that Bellamy knew what he was doing. She needed to follow him and not worry about where he was leading.

 _Trust_. 

She needed to trust him. 

She paid attention to the way he moved, trying to follow his lead without worrying about the details. She stopped looking at _where_ they were going, focusing instead on how they were getting there. 

Trusting him wasn’t as hard as she thought it was going to be. 

Instead of waiting to see the spell coming for them, she automatically cast shield charm after shield charm. She kept glancing around the pitch, but it wasn’t nearly as frantic as it was earlier. She lost track of which spells Bellamy cast.

Clarke trailed a step behind him, allowing Bellamy to take the lead. He kept a steady pace and he moved swiftly. It was easy to replicate his movements.

They easily fell into a pattern. As they moved, he’d take out the black boxes that fired stunners at them. She focused on keeping the shields up in front of their bodies, blocking the oncoming spells, and he’d work around her. Without her paying attention to every detail around them, it was easier to keep up with the pace of spells raining down on them. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed. Her eyes hurt from how fast her gaze was moving around the room. Her arm felt heavy from keeping her wand extending in front of her for so long. She could feel sweat gathering at the nape of her neck, gluing strands of her hair to her skin. 

Still, she didn’t falter.

It was as if they had always been fighting side by side. Moving with him was so natural and easy. It made her wonder why she tried to fight this for so long.

_Why did she hold onto so much control with him?_

It was easy to move around him. She could tell which box he was going for and she’d adjust her shields, giving him an opening to fire. He’d watch where she was casting and move accordingly.

It was going well. _Really well_.

Things started going downhill when the spells began to fly at them faster than she could get the shields up. 

At first, the increase in speed was something she could keep up with. She started to pay less attention to Bellamy’s movements, choosing to focus on keeping them safe.

It wasn’t much longer after that did she lose track completely of Bellamy. All of her focus went into shield charm after shield charm. Her arm burned. Her feet were planted to the ground. Sweat beaded down the side of her face.

She was struggling and Bellamy noticed. 

“Got you, Princess,” he murmured. He began casting shields alongside her, trying to give her some breathing room.

They were stuck now. Without Bellamy on the offensive, they couldn’t move an inch. She wanted to suggest he leave the defense to her, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it all on her own.

Before she could begin to figure out a plan, a spell managed to somehow slip between their shields and hit the ground a few inches away from her feet.

Her heart shot into her throat. Even though she knew it was just a stunner, she was filled with white-hot panic.

Another spells hit the ground closer to Bellamy this time, sending dirt flying into the air. “Shit!”

Bellamy swivelled around and cast a shield charm just as spells began firing at them from the back. His back pressed tightly against hers, nearly throwing her off balance.

Her head was spinning. Didn’t they already take out those black boxes? Why were they firing if they were already taken out? 

Shit, shit, shit—

They both couldn’t take the extra strain. With Bellamy switching to shielding them from the back, she was left with all the attacks from the front. It was impossible to keep up with. Her hand couldn’t move fast enough to keep up with the barrage of spells.

One slipped through. 

Then another. 

And another, and—

“Go!” 

Clarke shoved against his back and they stumbled out of the way. Her push threw off both of their shield work, but they were already racing forward, abandoning the spot they guarded.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her as he ran. She could barely keep up with him as he moved. She cursed his height.

Clarke gripped his hand and stumbled alongside him. Her wand was lifted, but before she could start casting shields again, he pushed her to the side. Having never truly found her balance as they ran, she went flying towards the ground. 

His hand left hers. 

She went tumbling sideways.

The ground rushed up too quickly.

When she hit the dirt, her palms scraped against it roughly. Her wand flew from her grasp and rolled out of reach. Pain instantly shot up her arms from the small scapes on her palm, but she pushed the discomfort to the side. 

Clarke rolled into her back and shoved her hand forcefully in the direction her wand rolled. Her eyes locked on the wood, only inches away from her. 

_Accio._

Before she could begin to utter of the summoning spell, she was hit with a stunner. 

.

When she woke, her head was throbbing and her whole body ached. Remembering where she was, she cracked an eye open.

“You sure as hell know how to put on a show.” Reyes was leaning over her, her wand in her hand and a smile on her lips. Clarke let out a strangled groan and let her head fall back to the dirt covered floor.

“I think a Hippogriff hit me,” she mumbled. Reyes snorted at that.

“If the Hippogriff’s name is Bellamy, then you’d be right.” 

Her eyes shot open at that. “Bellamy’s okay?” she asked, already starting to sit up. “The shields, it’s my fault—”

“The shields held perfectly.” Kane dropped down on one knee beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stay down. I’ve already sent Monty to get something for the pain, if you want it.”

Her eyes swept a few feet over from where she sat. Bellamy was laying in the dirt, both hands over his face. Almost as if he sensed her staring at him, he peeked at her through his fingers. Before he could say anything, Reyes was speaking. 

“You two realize how far you got, right?” 

Clarke finally paid proper attention to her surroundings. While the dirt she laid in was trampled, most of the surrounding dirt hadn’t been disturbed.

It took her a moment to process. Her mind was foggy from the fall.

Her eyes flicked towards the buzzer at the opposite end of the Quidditch pitch — except, now that she looked at it, it was a lot closer than _the opposite end._

They were almost there.

_They almost made it to the buzzer._

“Holy shit,” Bellamy said, vocalizing her thoughts exactly. He shot up from where he was laying and laughed in disbelief. “Holy shit!”

Kane clapped Clarke on the shoulder. “I don’t know what the hell you two did while I was gone, but it worked. You made it over halfway.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped the slightest bit and her eyes widened. She looked at Bellamy, both of their expressions in disbelief.

“You were fantastic,” Reyes praised. She thoroughly looked impressed. “I didn’t _ever_ think I’d be saying this as a compliment, but you moved like a Slytherin out there. Like a snake.”

She must’ve still been in shock, because she didn’t respond immediately.

“You were really good,” Harper agreed. “You were so smooth. It looked like you were _dancing,_ not fighting.”

Kane’s grip tightened on her shoulder. “You fight like a true Slytherin, and that’s a compliment.” He looked proud of her, and it made her want to cry. “Your movements flowed as one. Raven’s right; it was like a snake.”

“Like water,” Bellamy jumped in. When he realized all eyes were on him, he puffed out his cheeks and attempted to backtrack. “Damn. You guys never compliment me like this.”

Reyes poked him in the ribs. “Oh, now you _want_ to be a snake?”

“More than I want to be a _bird,_ for fuck sake.”

As the two of them began to mess around, Kane turned his attention to her. “I’m really impressed, Clarke. Was that wandless magic at the end? I couldn’t see from back at the start line, but…”

Clarke glanced at her wand, which still rested in the dirt several meters away from her. She thought back to the last thing she remembered before she was hit with a stunner.

She remembered reaching for her wand. She remembered feeling the magic coursing through her, and thinking the incantation for the summoning spell. 

“I don’t know what that was.” She rubbed her head. “I fell. I knew I had to get my wand back. I guess I tried summoning it, but obviously it didn’t work.”

Kane nodded thoughtfully. “Wandless magic is really advanced. I only know a few witches and wizards that master it.”

She pursed her lips. It wasn’t like she was _trying_ to do wandless magic on purpose. It wasn’t like she thought she was an advanced witch.

“It was instinct. I didn’t really think. I guess it wouldn’t make sense for it to work.”

He gave her a hard look. “Don’t sell yourself short. Everyone’s capable of wandless magic. We all do it as children.”

She lifted her eyebrow as her mind raced. This was an unfamiliar topic. She doubted Reyes and Bellamy knew much about it either, despite them both having graduated.

Things clicked. “Accidental magic?” she guessed. 

“Yeah. It’s noticed more in muggleborn children, as magic is highly out of the ordinary for them, but all children do it. I’m sure you changed your hair colour as a kid, or summoned a cookie.”

Her smile wavered. “I… I don’t know. My mother never told me much about when I was a kid.”

Kane’s face fell. “Right. Of course.” He smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Anyway, it’s something you’re capable of. If it was an instinct to try and use wandless magic, maybe that’s your body’s way of telling you to practice it. You might have a knack for it.

She pressed her lips tightly together. “You said it was rare, though.”

“Rare and nearly impossible, yes, but still possible. We all have special skills and talents — some might be potions masters, or they might have the sight in divination. Your skill might lie here.” He stood. “I have a book on advanced magic. You can have it, if you want.”

She clumsily climbed to her feet next to him. “Yeah. That would be great.”

“Good.” Mont approached the two of them, a small vial in his hands. “Take the pain potion if it’s something you want. You did good, Clarke.”

After she downed the contents in the vial, the five of them made their way to the kitchen. Clarke hung at the back of the group, her hands in her pockets and her mind stuck on what Kane said about wandless magic. 

“That went well,” Bellamy said, interrupting her train of though. He slowed down so he could walk beside her, breaking away from the rest of the group.

Clarke grinned up at him. “I guess Kane was right; we make a pretty good team.”

“A _damn_ good team,” he agreed. Her heart fluttered and she glanced away. “You’re on dinner duty tonight, right?” 

Clarke‘s step faltered. “Oh. Yeah. I am.” She completely forgot that she was scheduled for dinner tonight.

“What are we having? Something good, I hope.” He chuckled. “Although, anything is better than what Monty manages to make.”

“I, uh, I’m not sure.” 

If she was being honest with herself, not only did she forget that she was supposed to be cooking dinner tonight, but she didn’t actually know what went into cooking.

Clarke felt a knot growing in her stomach. Sure, she knew the theory behind cooking. You threw raw ingredients together in a certain order, and then food came out the other end. It was like potions.

But, she had no idea what those ingredients were. Or how to throw them together. Or which utensils to use. Or—

Fuck. She was fucked.

Bellamy glanced down at her abruptly. She could feel his eyes scanning her face, like he was studying her. She didn’t doubt the fact that he knew she didn’t know how to cook.

_Please don’t call me out on it. Please don’t see my discomfort. Please—_

“How about I help you?” he offered. He kept his voice light and easy. They both saw through it. 

Even though she knew she needed help, she frowned. She didn’t take pity offers easily. It was a flaw of hers. “No, it’s fine.”

They stopped walking just outside of her room door. He shuffled his feet. 

“You helped me with dishes the other night. This is me just returning the favour.”

Either he knew her better than she thought he did, or it was exactly what he said. She had trouble believing his words for face value though. Bellamy didn’t seem like the type of guy that expected a favour to be reciprocated; he seemed like the kind of guy to give his time and help without question.

Even though she didn’t believe his words, they offered a way out of the hole she managed to dig for herself.

“I’d like that,” she said after a moment. “What time are you free?”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Clarke, we live together in a safe house. I’m _always_ free.”

She bit her lip. “Right.” She reached for the doorknob. “Well, how about we start at five then?” That was usually when the person on cooking duty disappeared from the living area.

He nodded. “Five works.”

When they parted ways and she entered her room, she had trouble hiding her smile from Reyes. The older girl saw her expression and gave her a smirk.

“Shove off,” she murmured. 

Reyes’ smirk widened and she lifted her hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

Clarke could only laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve officially decided to keep this all together as one fic (instead of splitting it into 10 chapters/10 chapters like I originally planned). After rearranging my drafted plans, I estimate this fic will now be around 25 chapters in completion? Ish? We’ll see. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 11: Flight

******_CLARKE_ **

_November 14, 1997_

* * *

“I thought you said this was going to be easy,” Clarke said as she cut vegetables. Her knife moved slowly and carefully, while the vegetable wabbled from her unsteady grip.

She was struggling, to say the least, and it was highly embarrassing.

Bellamy let out a breathless laugh. “You’re doing great.” She gave him a hard look. “I’m serious. That’s the hardest part of this dish.”

Somehow, she doubted it, but she didn’t say anything.

They fell into an easy silence. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since they started dinner, but she knew it was taking a lot longer than it would’ve for any other occupant in the house.

Clarke was dressed in the pair of clothes given to her by Raven; a grey shirt and a pair of black pants. She’d never worn this style of clothing before, and she had an odd feeling that these clothes were Muggle. 

If that was the case, it was the first time wearing Muggle clothing for her, but the feeling of trying something different was freeing. With each change she was making to her life, it felt like she was cutting ties to a life she didn’t want.

Running away.

_Snip._

Joining the Order’s safe house system.

_Snip._

Becoming friends with Muggle-borns and half-bloods.

_Snip._

Dressing and living like a Muggle.

_Snip._

Although, that wasn’t entirely true. She still wore her wizarding robe that she brought from home. Bellamy wore his too, and she suspected it was so she didn’t feel so out of place.

He was standing at the stovetop, boiling water in what she learned was called a pot. 

_She was so out of her depth, it wasn’t even funny._

“I’m not stupid, you know,” she said with a sigh. “I just…”

“Clarke,” he cut in quickly. “I don’t think you’re stupid. It’s fine. Cooking is a skill. It’s not something you’re born knowing how to do.”

She sent a grateful smile in his direction. He’d never know how thankful she was in that moment.

She originally didn’t want to tell him that she had no idea what she was doing in the kitchen, but he found out very quickly when he arrived to help and she didn’t know what a pot was. 

“It’s just…” She groaned. “I’m going to sound horrible, but I never actually _cooked_ before. This is all new.”

She could see Bellamy grinning as he continued his work by the stove. “Really? Couldn’t tell.”

She tossed a half-cut mushroom at his head. “You ass,” she gasped, her smile ruining her insult. “I’m not _that_ bad. I knew how to cut and chop!”

He glanced at her, his smile softening. “You’re right.” Her heart fluttered in her chest. She quickly turned back to her work.

“I just… I’m a pureblood, right? I grew up in a house that wasn’t exactly big on cooking our own food.”

Bellamy didn’t look disgusted like she imagined he would. Instead, he merely looked curious. “Now _I’m_ the one that’s going to sound like I have no idea what’s going on, but how did you eat then? Take-out? The Griffins don’t seem like the take-out type of family.”

“What’s take-out?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Okay, forget I mentioned that. That’s a lesson for another day.”

She couldn’t help but grin at his good mood. “Lesson?! Merlin. Should I be calling you Mr. Blake now?”

He looked cocky. “That’s _Professor_ Blake to you.” She threw her head back from the force of her laughter. He was grinning widely at her, and the pure joy on his face made her want to melt. “I’m curious though. How did you guys eat if you didn’t cook?”

“We had house elves,” she said. The humour disappeared immediately from her. “Or my mother does, anyways. Well… _did_.” Bellamy looked confused at her choice of words. A small smile tugged at her lips. “Let’s just say that I wasn’t the only thing that left Griffin Manor when I ran away.”

It took him a moment to understand, but when he did, he looked shocked. His eyebrows disappeared behind his curls. “You set them free?”

“Of course. I couldn’t run away and leave them behind.” Her smile was forced. “I never agreed with my family about a lot of things — house elves, Muggle-borns, so-called blood traitors. Owning a house elf is something that I never agreed with, and I couldn’t leave when I knew there was something I could do to change it..”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” She turned her attention back to the chopping board. “Purebloods get used to that sort of thing, I guess. We grew up in a world where it’s normal to own a house elf — or, I did, at least.” She shrugged. “Look at Hogwarts, for example. The castle runs because of house elves. People just like to look past them and pretend they aren’t there.”

Bellamy blew out a long breath. “True. There’s a lot of fucked up things in our world.”

She glanced at him. “One thing at a time though. Maybe, after this war, whoever left behind will change the world for the better.”

“We’ll be left behind,” he said. She was tempted to call it a promise, but they both knew nobody could promise such things. “We’ll be the ones to change things for the better.”

“ _Someone_ will be left behind. I just hope it’s the right people.” Clarke sighed and forced another smile onto her lips. “I think I got off topic somewhere in there. What I was meaning to say is that I don’t know how to cook because someone’s always done it for me.”

Bellamy knew she was trying to steer the conversation away from the war, and he didn’t fight it. Neither of them wanted to talk about the world they lived in, or how bleek their future was.

“Like I said — don’t feel bad. It’s something that’s learned.”

“And who taught you?” The conversation was easy up until that point. As soon as the words left her mouth, she could see him tense.

He hesitated. 

Then, he continued working on the pot like nothing ever happened.

“My mom,” he said, his voice strained. “I had to learn when I was pretty young. I had to take care of Octavia.”

Octavia. His younger sister. The one that was missing.

She knew his family was a tough topic for him. She didn’t know much, but she did know that he never knew his father, had to watch his mother die, and he lost his sister during the war — he didn’t even know if she was dead or alive. 

“You watched your sister a lot then?” When she glanced at him, she saw his jaw tensed. She remembered last time that she pressed him about his family during Harper’s game — how he blamed her for Octavia’s disappearance, how they shouted in the living area, how it took both of them a while to move on. She didn’t want a repeat of that. “Sorry. I’m overstepping.”

“No,” he said quickly. He shook his head, dismissing whatever demons that were on his mind. “No, it isn’t you. It’s just… it’s hard to talk about.” He put the spoon to the side and turned to her completely. “But we’re in this together, and that means being truthful, even if it’s about something that hurts.”

She bit her lip. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m not going to be upset if you don’t. The past is hard to talk about.”

She probably understood not wanting to talk about the past better than anybody. She knew how hard it could be to talk about — especially if the wounds were still fresh.

“The past is hard, but it doesn’t have to dictate my future.” His smile was more genuine. “I know I don’t have to tell you anything. I _want_ to.”

That made her stomach flip. 

Clarke set down her knife and turned completely to him. “Okay then. I want to listen.”

_I want to listen. I want to share this burden with you. I want to help you. I want to understand you._

“My mom was a Muggle-born, so she always struggled to fit in with the wizarding world, especially growing up around the time that the first war was happening. After she graduated Hogwarts, she went back to the Muggle world, and started working.” Clarke nodded. She heard that the Muggle-borns that struggled to fit in would return to the Muggle world. 

Bellamy continued to speak. “We were never exactly well off. She had to work several jobs to just make ends meet. She was constantly working; never had a day off. It left me alone a lot of the time — especially when I was old enough to watch Octavia myself. While she worked, it was just O and me. I took care of her for a long time, and that included making us some food to eat.” He gestured to the vegetables Clarke had abandoned. “Which explains why I’m in my element here. I grew up cooking.”

Clarke bit her lip apprehensively, her mind already whirling. “You practically raised your sister.”

“I did what I had to do. It was my responsibility.” He looked away. “It still _is_ my responsibility. I did a pretty damn good job with that, with her being missing and me being on the run.” 

Clarke wanted to reach out and touch him, but she held back. She wanted to comfort him; to reassure him that everything was going to work out. She wanted to take the pain he was carrying away, even if it was for just a moment.

“What happened?”

He looked surprised by her question. “What?”

“What happened with Octavia?” she pressed. “You… you said your mom died a few months ago, before Dumbledore fell. How did you end up here, on the run?”

Bellamy turned back to the stove and busied his hands with stirring and adding ingredients. “The last words my mom told me was to take care of Octavia. She told me that she was my responsibility now. That I had to care for her now that she was gone.”

That didn’t exactly seem fair, but Clarke didn’t say anything. She didn’t like how this burden had been placed unfairly on him. He was just a teenager himself — only 19 years old — and his mother left him in charge of his sister.

“She also told me to keep her safe. She knew a war was coming, and she always wanted us to stay out of it.” Bellamy sighed. “I graduated in June. I left Octavia with a friend for the summer. In August, I travelled to France, trying to find some place where we could lay low until the war was over. I was trying to follow my mom’s last wishes, but…”

The pieces were finally clicking for Clarke. “When you got back, she was gone.” 

“Yeah. I got back at the end of August to get her. When I got to her friend’s house, it was completely torn to pieces, and there wasn’t a sign of her.” He looked pained as he spoke. Her heart hurt for him. “I haven’t heard from her since. I tried asking around, but I was looking in places that I shouldn’t have been, and it painted a target on my back. I had to go on the run after that.”

The silence was thick and suffocating. He was torturing himself by taking the blame for what happened to his sister. He thought he was responsible for what happened, and it made her sick.

“It isn’t your fault,” she told him. 

“It is,” he argued. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve took her with me.” 

“Bellamy…” She struggled with her words. The blame shouldn’t be put on you. The only people to blame are whoever took her.”

“No. I should have known. I should have done something.”

“Blame the people who purposefully acted to hurt her. Don’t blame yourself. Don’t allow yourself to think that your inactions caused this — they didn’t. _You_ didn’t hurt her. They did; Death Eaters, Snatchers, _whoever_ found her — but that isn’t you.” 

He glanced at Clarke, and the expression on his face made her throat tighten. He looked exhausted and destroyed, like this was something that had been eating him alive for months.

“I don’t know if I can believe that.”

Her heart broke a little more with that.

This time, she reached for him. Her touch was light on his shoulder. “It isn’t your fault. I know it might be hard to believe — trust me, I know — but it isn’t your fault.” She squeezed his shoulder. “It’s sometimes impossible to believe what other people tell you. _I know,_ because I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still here.” She forced a smile. “Time. We need time to heal, to figure things out, but _I promise you, Bellamy,_ what happened between you and your sister isn’t your fault.”

He looked so distraught in that moment. She wished she could help more than by just telling him and promising things. 

“I tried,” he said, his voice cracking. When he smiled, she knew it was to try and stop himself from breaking into a million pieces. “I tried to keep her safe. I tried to get us both out. _I did._ ”

“You did.” She didn’t know what he did to try and get both of them out of the country, but she knew what she was saying was true. She knew Bellamy — she knew he was loyal, and dedicated, and brave. He would’ve done anything to keep someone he loved safe.

“She wanted to come with me, too, that is the worst.” He rubbed his face roughly. “I told her to stay. I told her that she couldn’t come. Maybe if I did…” He continued speaking before she could try and reassure him. “I told her she couldn’t come because of the international portkey regulations. I don’t know if you’re familiar with them, but she would’ve had to have been 17 for her to be able to take an international portkey legally. I should’ve just grabbed our bags and never looked back.”

“She wasn’t of age?” 

“No. She was 16. She was supposed to turn 17 in March.” He chuckled darkly. “ _Was_. I’m already talking about her like she’s gone.”

Clarke didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to comfort him. 

She did the first thing that came to mind. She dropped her hold on his shoulder to take his hand in hers. The touch made him freeze. They locked eyes. 

“It isn’t your fault,” she told him.

She remembered how his touch gave her strength when she was on the verge of tears about her mother. She remembered how comforted she was by that simple motion.

Clarke moved forward to wrap her arms around Bellamy’s shoulders. She didn’t know how many times in her life she had wished there was someone she trusted enough (and cared about her enough) to hold and tell her everything was going to be alright.

She wanted to be that person for Bellamy. She wanted to help take some of his pain away — to burden some of his demons.

He pulled her close without hesitation. His nose pressed against the side of her head, while hers buried against his neck.

Merlin, the hug was meant to comfort him, but she could feel some tension bleeding from her own muscles. Being wrapped in the embrace of someone she trusted made her feel stronger than before, but this wasn’t a fabricated strength. It wasn’t a strength she found by lying to herself, or by ignoring what she was feeling.

It was a strength that came with solidarity. It was a strength that came with knowing someone was there for her; that they were in this together.

It was something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“It isn’t your fault,” she told him again.

When he pulled out of her hold, he looked more at ease. She knew a simple hug wouldn’t erase all his worries or his fears. It wouldn’t bring his sister back, nor would it change the past, but it helped lift the burden the slightest bit, and that was what mattered.

Bellamy was about to say something, but was cut off by a sharp sizzle from the stove. They both glanced over to see the pot of water boiling over the edge.

“Ah. Shit.” He lunged for the pot and pulled it off the heat. He placed the pot on the edge of the counter and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly and nodded, content that she seemed to have helped the slightest bit.

Bellamy pointed to the advanced charms book on the table. Kane gave it to her moments before they started cooking dinner, and she was hoping to catch a spare second to flip through it. “Light reading?”

“Always.” She smiled at their easy banter. “No, Kane is letting me borrow that book to study.”

His eyes flicked to the cover. “That’s a high level textbook.”

She lifted her chin jokingly. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

He laughed. “Merlin, no. You of all people would be able to handle anything. I’m just surprised.”

Clarke tried to ignore the flicker in her chest. It felt like butterflies had come alive in her stomach with his compliments.

“I was surprised, too,” she said. “But he wants me to try wandless magic. Earlier today, I— _fuck_.”

Clarke dropped the knife and clutched her hand. She wasn’t paying enough attention and caught the edge of her finger with the blade. She could tell it wasn’t anything too serious, but it still stung and drew blood.

Bellamy moved towards her. “Are you okay?” 

She nodded, but still pouted in his direction. “I’m not very good at this.”

He laughed at that. The heaviness in the room dissipated, leaving her feeling lighter than before. She hoped he felt the same way.

Bellamy pulled out his wand from his pocket and took her hand in his. Within seconds of him casting the spell, the skin on her finger pulled back together, leaving only a thin red mark behind. “There. As good as new.” As if to make sure it was sealed properly, he lifted it up to the light and examined it closely.

“Good thing you’re good at healing charms,” she told him. “You’re probably using them more than you thought you would be.”

“No more knives for you.” He glanced at her, a smug smile on his lips. “Need me to kiss it better?”

Her heart stopped in her chest. “Wh- What?”

“It’s a Muggle thing. Kissing an injury makes it better. It’s as close to magic as Muggles get.”

She looked apprehensive at the thought of it. How could kissing something heal it? “And it works?”

He brought her hand closer to his lips. When he spoke next, she could feel his breath on her knuckles. “Why don’t we find out?”

She let out a breathless laugh and nodded her head the slightest bit. His eyes never left hers as he brought her hand the rest of the way to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the pad of her fingertip. A jolt of electricity went down her arm and ran up her spine. She had to fight hard to keep the chills from eliciting goose bumps along her arms.

When he pulled away, she tried to think of anything past his lips and his warm breath.

“You’re going to have to get hurt next,” she mumbled, her mind still reeling, “so I can give you that Muggle magic.”

She could still feel each one of his breaths on her hand. All she wanted to do was move forward and press her lips against his. It was a fleeting thought — one that shocked her more than anything else that day did.

_She wanted to kiss Bellamy Blake._

“You don’t need an excuse to kiss me, Princess,” he commented lightly, his voice raspy. Her heart was racing. “You can—”

On pure instinct, Clarke tackled Bellamy to the ground.

Seconds later a jolt of green light crashed through the kitchen window above the sink. The spell burned its way into the wallpaper on the opposite wall.

They landed on the ground roughly, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Bellamy landed beside her, a grunt coming from his lips upon impact.

Before she could get her bearings, the house shook from the force of an explosion. Clarke clumsily reached out for Bellamy, needing to grasp onto him. He reached for her too, and their hands connected them for a brief moment.

They were both pressed into the kitchen floor, their chests against the wood. Her mind was spinning. Her heart was in her stomach. She couldn’t breathe from the panic engulfing her.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—_

Clarke was already fumbling for her wand in her pocket when the second explosion rang out, this one more powerful than the last. Despite being in the back of the house, she could feel the concussion in her chest.

She had no doubt in her mind. They were going to die.

“They’re here,” she hissed, her voice wavering. Her heart was pounding in her chest so fiercely that it felt like her ribcage was going to split in two. She searched for Bellamy’s eyes. He looked just as terrified as she felt. “We have to go. We have to—”

The sharp crack of a spell whizzing above them cut her off.

 _Death Eaters were coming. They were already here. They were attacking they_ —

They had to go. 

They had to move. 

Things were quickly spiralling into chaos. Seconds after the loud explosion, she could hear popping noises from all around the house. It was the unmistakable sound of apparation.

The safe house was compromised. Death Eaters had them surrounded. The house was being attacked from the front and back.

They had to move before they were pinned. If they allowed them to close in, they’d be screwed.

She locked eyes with Bellamy again, both frantic. “We need to counter—”

“I know, but—”

“Like training. You take—”

“Got it.” They spoke quickly and in fragments, but she understood him perfectly. He released her hand and pressed his palm against the ground. He gave a sharp nod. “Now!”

They both shot up from where they’d taken cover on the floor, turning towards the back of the house. Clarke immediately cast a shield charm, while Bellamy shot a stunner out into the backyard.

They moved easily around each other, quickly slipping into the pattern they’d discovered earlier that day. Spells were firing at them through the window and the blown out backdoor, but her shields were holding steady.

The duel lasted mere seconds. Bellamy’s spells found their targets easily and they both watched as masked Death Eaters fell to the ground, feet away from the safe house.

She was panting when she turned to him. His eyes found hers again, more wild than before. As they dueled the Death Eaters from the back, the world had faded away, but reality crashed around them.

There was movement on the other side of the wall. Someone was already in the house — more than some _one,_ actually _._ She could hear the boots of several people as they ran through the house. 

“The others,” he breathed. Her heart stopped beating.

 _Fuck._ Their friends.

“Go!” Clarke urged. They were moving before either of them could think, desperate to get to their friends.

They burst through the kitchen door into the living area, throwing themselves into chaos. The front windows of the living area were blown in from the explosion. The china in the cabinets were toppled onto the floor and sat in broken pieces. The television and clock were both knocked sideways onto the ground.

Spells instantly flew in Clarke’s direction, and she could tell from the colours they weren’t simply stunners.

“Move!” she screamed. She pushed Bellamy forward, shoving him out of the way of a stream of green light.

_The killing curse._

Clarke threw up a shield charm again, stopping a barrage of spells from hitting them. It shattered instantly. She stumbled forward in her haste, but she righted herself quickly. She wasn’t watching where she was walking, and bumped over a side table. A vase toppled from it and shattered on the ground.

Death Eaters were steaming into the house from the blown in front door. The silver masks gleamed red in the setting sun. Dozens of wands were pointed in their direction. 

Bellamy was seemingly oblivious to everything around them. While she struggled to keep up the shield charms to protect them, he hadn’t lifted his wand once to counter them. He was looking past the Death Eaters and up the stairs.

“Kane!” Bellamy was trying to make his way towards the staircase, she realized. He was trying to get to the others. “Kane!”

“Down!” Clarke was paying more attention that Bellamy and tackled him to the ground as a spell flew at him. They both landed behind the couch roughly, but alive. She let out a strangled gasp when her shoulder hit the floor and her vision swam.

A scream came from upstairs and it curdled her blood. Bellamy was already scrambling up from the floor, his eyes locked beyond the edge of the couch, but she pulled him back down roughly. He narrowly missed another attack.

They had seconds before they were overwhelmed. Spells were getting closer to hitting them. She couldn’t keep up with the fire, especially not if Bellamy was charging into the masses without hesitation.

They had to leave. They had to get out. They had to—

A silver fox burst to life inches away from Clarke’s face. “Run!” Kane’s voice came through the mouth of the misty animal. “They discovered all of us working at the Ministry. The safe houses are compromised, do _not_ go to Kignsley’s, do not—” His voice cut off. The fox flickered. “GO!” With that, the silver animal faded into fog and a loud explosion came from above them.

Clarke rolled into her knees and shot a stunner over the couch without looking, hoping it would buy them a few more seconds. She could see Bellamy eyeing the stairs again, an animalistic look on his face. He was planning on running into the fight. He was going to go for Kane and the others.

“Bellamy!” She reached forward and tugged his arm. “No!”

His attention snapped to her. He was terrified. A spell flew inches above his head, making his hair whip around like he was caught in a storm.

“But Raven—”

Clarke managed to throw up a shield charm seconds before a spell would’ve hit them. She let out a startled yelp when the cabinet behind them exploded. Wood splinters flew through the air. Her back stung.

“I need to… we need to—” There wasn’t any time to discuss it anymore. He wanted to run and save his friends — she did too — but they needed to live. _They needed to go._ “Do you trust me?”

He faltered. “Wh-”

“Do you trust me?”

This time, he didn’t hesitate. “With my life.”

She gripped his hand. “Trust me when I saw we aren’t going to win this fight.” A chill settled over her. Determination hardened her eyes. “We’re leaving. Get up and run.”

Bellamy looked thrown. “What!?”

“Run!”

Clarke shot up from behind the couch and took off sprinting for the kitchen. She could feel Bellamy right behind her, casting shields to cover their backs.

She burst into the kitchen, her heart pounding. She could feel blood running along her temple and down her back. Sweat made her eyes sting.

As she blew past the table, she snatched the advanced charms book from Kane. Without another thought, she reached for the boiling pot of water on the edge of the counter.

“Switch!”

Bellamy and her switched positions easily, with him taking the lead through the rest of the kitchen. She dumped the pot of water on the ground and cast a quick freezing spell on it, turning the large puddle into an ice patch. When the first Death Eater burst into the kitchen, she chucked the hot metal pot at their head and hoped it hit its mark. 

Bellamy led them through the back door. Lucky for them, the Death Eater’s must’ve all been preoccupied, as the backyard was empty, with the exception of the couple of unconscious Death Eaters they dueled earlier.

She raced after him towards the edge of the property line. Spells were firing at them from the house. She threw stunner after stunner over her shoulder. Grass and dirt flew into the air around them.

Clarke felt the shift in the wards as soon as they crossed them. Clarke lunged at Bellamy’s back and she grabbed a fist full of his sweater. As soon as she had a tight hold on him, he twisted his wand and disapperated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed :) Comments and kudos are appreciated!! Let me know if you were expecting this!
> 
> Paw  
> Follow me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter 12: Through the Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain. It was one I had a ton of fun writing, but not a lot of fun editing. I've been pouring over it for days now, and I'm not 100% happy with it yet. Tbh, 10 minutes before posting, I was considering just rewriting the whole darn thing, but here I am!
> 
> Despite all of that, it's here and it's a lengthy one! This is ~7k, but there are a few scene breaks throughout, which hopefully makes for easier reading.
> 
> Warnings: coarse language, blood
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ November 14, 1997 _

* * *

When the world stopped shifting around her, she realized she had no idea where she was.

Clarke was gripping Bellamy’s cloak so tightly that her knuckles were white. She wobbled forward on her feet with the momentum from her sprint. Bellamy’s arm shot out and held her upright.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. All that she could feel was Bellamy in front of her and the ground under her feet. All she could hear was faint ringing in her ears, a sharp reminder of the explosions they narrowly escaped.

Clarke clung to him, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt like she was about to get sick — from adrenaline, from fear, from how close they all were to death — she wasn’t sure.

She knew they couldn’t stop and recover, not longer than they already had. They were standing in the middle of a place she didn’t recognize. People rushed around them.

They were somewhere Muggle; she could tell by the flashing lights of every colour. Signs stood as high as what felt like the towers at Hogwarts, showcasing pictures of people eating food and people wearing Muggle clothing.

Metal horses where whizzing around them in all directions in what seemed like organized chaos; small ones, tall ones, ones that looked strangely like the Knight Bus. Horns blared and shouting came from every direction. 

As Clarke glanced around, she was bumped forward by passing Muggles. She roughly jostled Bellamy and muttered a quick apology. It was then that she realized they were standing in the middle of a busy path, completely blocking the way of the pedestrian traffic. 

Her attention flickered to Bellamy. 

He was frozen. 

She wasn’t sure if he was still breathing. His muscles were tense, like he was ready to pounce at any second. When she glanced at him, his eyes were distant and his jaw slack, like he was living in a different world. 

“Bellamy,” she pressed. “We need to move.”

He was still processing, but she couldn’t wait for him to come back to her. They had to keep moving.

She reached forward to take his hand in hers, and began pulling both of them with the flow of Muggles along the path. He followed her lead numbly. 

“Muggle London?” she guessed, forcing her voice to remain calm. She could sense he was on the verge of falling apart, and she knew she had to be the source of strength right now. 

_ She had to be strong for him.  _ For both of them.

Her voice must’ve sucked him back into the present. His eyes snapped to hers.

“Piccadilly Circus,” he breathed. He switched his grip around in her hand so their palms were flush against each other and their fingers intertwined. He quickened his pace to walk alongside her. “Wands away.”

She did what he asked without a question, slipping her wand into her pocket. She shifted the advanced charms book in her arm, resting the edge on her hip. Her eyes swivelled around the square they stood in, trying to take in everything.

“They’re like movies,” she managed to say as she watched a picture move on the side of the building. “They’re so bright.”

Bellamy was slowly coming out of his shock and was now guiding her along the path. She was thankful he was refocusing — she had no idea where to go or how to act in a world so different.

“We need to change,” he said quickly. 

He was glancing over his shoulder at the Muggles around them, and she followed suit. People were starting to stare and point. 

_ Right _ . They were still in wizarding robes and they stuck out. Muggles didn’t dress like this. If they were trying to lay low, they were failing spectacularly at that.

One man across the path caught her eye. He was standing taller than the others around him and was staring at them, his gaze intense and unbreaking. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could’ve sworn he was looking right at  _ her _ .

A chill settled in her spine. The hair along the back of her neck stood up. It suddenly hit her just how vulnerable they were in that moment.

“Bellamy,” she hissed, trying to keep her lips from moving. Her eyes never left the man’s. “Bellamy, I think he recognizes me.”

That got his attention. His head whipped in the direction she was staring in. “What? Who?”

“The man under the light post.” She finally broke eye contact with the stranger and tugged Bellamy’s hand, trying to pull them away from his gaze.

“How? How does he know who we are?”

Cold hands of panic gripped her heart. “My mother has wanted posters of me.” Her hand reached up to brush against her hair automatically. “My hair.” 

She always knew that the golden-blonde hair was identifiable; it was why she tried her best to hide it when she first came to Kane’s safe house.

“We have to get off the streets,” he said quickly. He gestured to a street between the buildings beside them. “We’ll go down there. Get away from prying eyes.”

With a plan in place, they pushed their way through the crowd, trying through the crowd. His grip tightened on her hand as Muggles bumped into them from all sides.

She was terrified,  _ so terrified _ . Not only because of what happened at the safe house, but because she was walking in a Muggle place — something completely foreign to her. The first Muggle area she’d been to was the neighbourhood Kane’s house was in, and her time on the street had been brief.

Clarke held onto Bellamy like her life depended on it. Merlin, if they got separated, she’d be trapped in a Muggle area alone. 

She’d be all alone, on the run, being hunted.

She glanced over her shoulder, back in the direction of the stranger. Her heart skipped a beat when he wasn’t standing under the light post anymore. Her eyes scanned the faces surrounding the area, but she couldn’t pick out his scruffy beard.

Just as she was about to mention something to Bellamy, they stumbled out from between the Muggles rushing on the path. The abandoned road Bellamy had spotted between buildings was dark — strikingly so, especially compared to the busy path they were just in.

“I hope nobody saw us,” Bellamy hissed. He glanced behind them, waiting for a Muggle to chance after them. 

She tugged his hand, urging him to pick up the pace. “We have bigger problems.”

Once they were out of sight of the busy Muggle square, Bellamy slowed to a stop and dropped her hand.

He pressed his back against the brick wall, his head rolling back in exhaustion. It was like he couldn’t support his own weight anymore — like the only thing keeping him upright was the wall.

Now that they were away from all the Muggles, Clarke’s mind was given a chance to process everything that happened over the last ten minutes. 

_ Reality hit her hard.  _

They could’ve died. 

Shit — they almost died. 

Clarke stumbled forward and joined him against the wall. Their shoulders pressed against each other’s, and she sought comfort in his touch. He was shaking against her from adrenaline. 

She knew she was doing the same against him.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, her voice rising with hysterics. Bellamy remained silent, and it was killing her. They needed to plan, they needed to figure out where to go from here. They didn’t have time to stand around. “Merlin, I don’t know what to do. I don’t…” She blew out a long breath.

She needed to calm down. Panicking wasn’t going to help anyone.

Clarke tried to think logically. She’d been on her own before. She survived for months without help. She wasn’t alone; she had Bellamy, and they were friends.

Oh, Merlin, their friends...

She stopped. She couldn’t process what happened; not yet, not until they were safe. 

“We need to go somewhere,” she said, her voice steadier than before. “That man… If he recognized me, he’s going to look for us and he won’t be alone.”

Bellamy looked exhausted, but he nodded his head. He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. 

“You’re right. We need to go somewhere else. Quickly.” He straightened himself, finding the strength to stand on his own. “First, we need to make sure we aren’t identified.”

He took out his wand and pointed it at her head. What felt like a cold liquid drenched her hair, and she recognized the feeling. He was performing transfiguration.

Seconds passed and he lowered his wand. She pulled at a piece of her hair, which felt thicker than before, and looked at it. 

_ Black _ .

He transfigured her identifiable hair into something that would blend in with the masses.

“Smart,” she breathed. Her eyes swept his form and zeroed in on the blood trickling down his neck. “You’re hurt.”

“What?” He looked shocked as he lifted his hand to touch his skin. He pulled back his blood-covered fingers and stared at them in confusion. “I don’t feel hurt.”

It was from the adrenaline. Even though she knew they both were hit with slivers of wood during the explosion, she didn’t feel them past a faint hum of pain.

_ She was numb,  _ and not just to her injuries. It felt like she was distant from herself, like she was  _ floating  _ where she should be standing.

Bellamy reached up and brushed some of her hair off of her forehead. He winced. “You’re hurt too.”

“I know.”

He lifted his wand. “I’m going to seal it, okay?” She gave him permission and, seconds later, she felt the skin stitch together. “We need to get rid of any obvious blood before we go anywhere. Injuries will draw too much attention.”

She mumbled in agreement and he took a step closer to her. He sliced off a strip of his Muggle shirt with a cutting charm and brought the fabric to her temple. She stood as still as possible as he dabbed at the partially dry blood along her face.

He stepped away from her and the cloth was already being lifted to his own neck. Clarke reached forward without hesitation, placing a hand over his delicately.

“My turn.” His gaze lingered on her before he handed over the cloth to her. “Don’t look at me like that. I know how to perform a simple spell.”

“No, it isn’t that.” He turned his head to the sky, giving her better access to his bloodied neck. “You just look different right now.” He gestured vaguely to her. “Black hair.”

“You like blondes, Blake?”

“I like  _ you. _ ” She felt him, rather than heard him, when he cleared his throat. “As a blonde, I mean. I like you as a blonde.” He continued to plow through his answer. “Not that you don’t look nice with black hair, because that wouldn’t be true, but—”

“I’m teasing you,” she said, finding it impossible to hide her smirk. She pulled back from his neck, his skin freshly washed and sealed. “There.”

“Thanks.” He retook the piece of cloth from her. “We need to go.”

Their hands linked again and they started back the way they came, back towards the busy Muggle street. 

“Where are we going? You have a plan?”

Bellamy’s lips were a thin line. “No. We’re getting out of here though.”

She was almost afraid to ask. She didn’t know if she wanted to know the answer. “And then what?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “I don’t know. First, we get somewhere safe.” He glanced at her. “I assume you don’t know anywhere like that?”

“No.” She glanced at the Muggle street coming back into view. “This is my first time being in this world.”

“What about in the wizarding world? Anywhere you know we can hide?”

“No. I used all my ideas when I was on the run. Kane was my last hope.” She glanced at him. “What about you? You’re supposed to go to the next safe house.”

He shook his head. “It’s not safe. That was Kane’s Patronus before we left, the silver fox.” She nodded. She heard about Patronus charms before and recognized the animal. “He said the Order members in the Ministry were compromised. He told us not to go to the safe houses run by them.”

“And your next one was run by the Order?”

“It was Kinglsey’s house,” he explained. “That’s where we were going last week.”

“I remember.” She walked a little faster to keep up with Bellamy’s long strides. “So, he’s compromised. Kane is compromised. Was there someone else you know of?”

“No. The Order is very secretive. I don’t even know who’s  _ in  _ the Order, outside of those two and a few professors. I only knew of Kane’s safe house, and then I was told about Kingsley’s just in case something like that happened.” He shook his head. “We weren’t ready for this. Fuck, we weren’t ready.”

They were silent for the rest of the walk. Clarke knew it was bad when they materialized on the Muggle street only moments before. She assumed Bellamy would’ve taken both of them to the next safe house.

It made sense now. There was no next safe house.

When they approached the street, he glanced at her. “We’re on our own for now.”

She swallowed thickly and tried to hide her fear. “Okay.” 

Somehow, being alone and on the run again felt more dangerous than it did before. Maybe it was because she had a taste of safety and security at Kane’s. 

Now, she knew exactly what she was missing. 

They did their best to blend in with the moving crowd on the Muggle path. Clarke clutched his hand tighter, once again afraid of being separated in a world she didn’t understand. Bellamy glanced at the moving metal horses flying past them on the street.

“I’m getting us a taxi.” He stuck his hand out onto the street and waved wildly at an orange metal transportation device. As he did, he continued to speak to her. “You know what that is?”

“No. I don’t know what anything is.”

The orange transportation device was slowing down, having seen Bellamy trying to wave it. She watched it approach warily.

No way in hell was she getting in that. It was a metal box that moved at ridiculously high speeds, for Merlin’s sake.

“It’s safe,” he promised her once he saw her expression. “We need to get out of here.”

“We can’t apparate?”

“No. I don’t know any place well enough to take us there safely.” He watched her closely. “It’s just like a broom.”

“It doesn’t look like a broom.” She knew she didn’t have much of a choice. If Bellamy said it was safe, she was going to have to trust him. “Alright. What do I do?”

“There are belts on the chairs; put one on when you get in. I’ll handle the rest.”

The taxi came to a stop in front of them. Bellamy pulled open the back door and she climbed in hastily. She slid all the way across and did as he instructed, strapping the grey belt across her hips. He slid in after her and leaned forward. 

“Can you take us to the Marble Arch please?” The driver and Bellamy continued to discuss the details of the trip, and Clarke glanced through the glass window. Her knuckles were turning white from clutching the belt across her lap so tight.

Seconds later, the taxi started rolling forward and her hand shot out towards the door for stability. She gripped the leather so tight that her fingers hurt.

“This shouldn’t be a long ride,” he promised her. He tried to smile reassuringly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. We’re fine.”

They both knew he was lying.

.

She didn’t know how it was possible with all the adrenaline coursing through her system, but she must’ve dozed off during the ride. She woke when Bellamy gently shook her shoulder.

“What time is it?” 

The sky had been dark for hours already — it set before they started cooking dinner — but it lost the purple tinge to it while she slept.

“Almost seven. We’ve been driving for a half hour. We’re stopping soon — I recognized that street name.”

The taxi slowed down almost immediately after he spoke. Across the street from where they parked was a large Muggle monument. People were buzzing everywhere despite the darkness. 

Clarke didn’t pay much attention to the monument. She watched as Bellamy reached into his wand pocket and pulled out a small pouch. When the taxi pulled to a complete stop, he leaned forward and began discussing rates with the driver.

Her eyes swept over the people surrounding the arch. She didn’t see anyone wearing silver masks and black robes, but she was still nervous. If someone knew where she was, she didn’t have a doubt in her mind that her mother would be coming after her.

Bellamy broke her from that terrifying train of thought when he opened the door of the taxi. Together, they climbed onto the street.

The air was humid and warm. It smelled cleaner and fresher here than it did at the busy Muggle street.

Bellamy began leading them up the block. She walked beside him, her wand pressed against the palm of her hand.

He stuffed both hands in his pockets. While his stance looked relaxed, she knew the truth. He was keeping his hands in his pockets so he could keep a hold on his wand without drawing attention to himself.

It made her feel better than she wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy about the situation.

“If someone was following us, we should’ve lost them,” he assured her, breaking the silence. 

They watched as a group of children ran across the path, squealing with laughter. Somehow, seeing so much happiness felt so out of place.

“That’s not all I’m worried about.” 

He sighed. “Neither am I.” Bellamy glanced up at a street sign they past. “We’re close.”

“You know this area well?” She was desperate to talk about anything to keep her mind off of what happened less than an hour before. 

“Yeah. My mom and I took O and I to London for a few days when we were younger. We stayed at a hotel just a few blocks from the Marble Arch. I also stopped here back in August, when I was trying to get an International Portkey to France.” He glanced at her. “This is the first place I thought of.”

It made sense that Bellamy thought to go to Muggle London when they were attacked. Moments before Death Eaters stormed the safe house, they were talking about his childhood. 

“There.” He gestured to a building across the street. “We’ll stay here for a night. Lay low. Figure out what to do.”

Clarke felt more comfortable in the Muggle hotel, if only because it meant four walls were around her. She felt less exposed and less prone to an attack. She also felt strangely at home; the dusty couches and wallpapered walls reminded her of the Three Broomsticks.

Bellamy pulled out a few Muggle bills to pay for their room. She hung by his side as he arranged the stay, her eyes constantly scanning the lobby and street for threats. Her wand was warm in her hand, and she was so tempted to pull it from her pocket to be ready for an attack.

He poked her side. The worker was holding a Muggle pen in her direction, a pointed look on her face.

Clarke blinked. “What?”

“We both have to sign for the room,” Bellamy said, stepping forward and saving her from looking like an idiot.

She took the pen and glanced down at the white piece of paper on the desk. Bellamy has already signed his name in the indicated area. 

In clear printing,  _ Bellamy Blake _ , paired with his signature.

On the line she was supposed to sign on, he printed a second name.

_ Lois Blake. _

She stared at it for a long moment, the tip of the pen resting on the piece of paper. 

Bellamy wasn’t stupid — he knew her name was Clarke Griffin. Why would he sign someone else’s name, though? Unless—

Unless it was because he didn’t want her to use her own name.

It made sense. The Griffins were a well known pure-blood family and she was being hunted. Of course, she shouldn’t be using her real name.

Clarke quickly signed as Lois Blake. When she slid the paper back to the Muggle, she locked eyes with Bellamy.

His smile was the most genuine one she’d from him in the last hour. She lifted her eyebrow playfully.

Finally, after longer than she expected, they had the keys and were headed to their room.

As they walked the hallways, he leaned towards her. “No more magic, alright? We don’t know who’s around here that might recognize what we’re doing.”

The hotel room was small, but it was four walls and two beds, and that was all she cared about. It seemed to be the same for Bellamy; as soon as the door was locked and the curtains drawn, he flopped backwards onto one of the beds.

They were both silent for a long moment. Clarke sat down gently beside him, unable to leave his side. She desperately needed his comfort after everything that happened.

He turned his head to look at her. At first, he didn’t speak. Finally, he sat back up and brushed his finger through her hair. 

The motion was strange for them, and it made her heart race. At first, she thought he was doing this to comfort her.

Then, she remembered her hair was black. He was touching her hair to admire his transfiguration work.

She tried to pretend she wasn’t disappointed. 

“Lois does not suit you,” he said after a long moment.

Out of everything she expected him to say, that was not it. She let out a short laugh.

“Why pick it then?”

“Lois is the name of Superman’s love interest. Superman’s name is Clark. I thought it was fitting. Easy to remember.”

“Merlin, there’s so much I don’t know, I’m not even going to ask what a Superman is.”

Bellamy was about to reply, most likely to explain what it was, but he decided better of it. Instead, he brushed her hair over her shoulder and laid back in the bed. 

“I hope you don’t mind me making you an honorary Blake for our stay,” he said. “I thought there would be less questions if they thought—”

“If they thought we are family,” she interrupted him, already knowing his answer. She laid down beside him. “Smart.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, he laughed. It was a free laugh, one that made the corners of her lips quirk up, even though she didn’t know what he was laughing at.

“Fuck, I just automatically assumed we would be married.” Clarke’s eyes flew open from the initial shock.  _ Married.  _ It was easy to join in on the laughter with him. As soon as the first laugh was past her lips, she couldn’t stop. “Glad to know I’m just your brother though.”

She gasped is mock offense. She could barely speak a full sentence between her laughter. “Are you trying to tell me I wouldn’t make a good wife?”

“Hey, you’re the one that denied my proposal,” he told her, feigning seriousness. That only made her laugh harder. “I clearly thought you’d make a  _ lovely _ wife.”

“Oh, so it was me who thought you’d make a shitty husband?”

“Apparently.” He bumped their elbows together playfully. “I wouldn’t blame you either. I snore.”

Clarke rolled onto her side, her hand clutching her stomach from laughing so hard. “I guess I’ll find that out soon enough, huh?”

Bellamy turned his head to look at her. He turned somber after a few seconds, their laughter drifting away like leaves on a fall wind. 

Her heart squeezed. She shouldn’t be laughing now. She had all the reasons in the world  _ not  _ to laugh, yet here she was, giggling like a child.

They were attacked. They almost died. They were on their own. They didn’t know if their friends survived. They didn’t know if  _ they  _ were going to survive.

Bellamy must’ve been thinking along the same lines as her. He looked away from her suddenly, his mouth twisted into a frown.

“Sorry.”

On instinct, she reached forward. Her fingertip brushed along his cheek, lightly tracing a blooming bruise. 

_ She blamed her boldness on her exhaustion.  _

“You saved us.”

It was a simple statement, but had dire consequences. 

He turned sharply, pulling away from her touch. Her hand fell to her side. 

There was this distance between them — a distance much larger than the few inches between their shoulders.

His mood shifted so dramatically so quickly that it threw her.

She wouldn’t have been so shocked if she’d seen it coming, but it came so suddenly. As soon they laughed, something shifted.

She hated it.

“No,” Bellamy disagreed. “That wasn’t me — that was all you. If you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have gotten out.”

What he said was true. She had pushed him out of the way of a dozen spells, including that first one through the window. She’d been the one casting all the shield charms. He was desperate to get upstairs, and he had been willing to fight all the Death Eaters blocking his way.

He would’ve died.

“We worked together to escape,” she said.While she’d been the one to keep him alive back at the house, he was the one keeping her alive since. 

“Don’t lie to me, Clarke.”

“I’m not lying. You were the one that knew where to go. I didn’t have a clue. If you didn’t disapparate both of us, I probably would’ve accidentally gone back to Griffin Manor.”

His body stiffened and he pulled away from her further. “Fuck. The house. The others.” She watched him closely, but remained silent. 

It didn’t feel like he wanted her comfort right now, and she was fine with that. She understood that they both would need space to cope on their own.

His hands pressed against his face. “I think this is a nightmare.” He gripped his hair tightly. “This is all a dream. We’re both back at Kane’s safe house. It’s still  _ safe.  _ We’re not here.”

Clarke didn’t know what to say to reassure him. She didn’t know what to say to reassure herself.

“Bellamy,” she said slowly. She paused, carefully considering her words. “You’re right. This is a nightmare, but it’s something we can’t wake up from. We’re living it.”

He turned to her, his eyes haunted. She knew what he was thinking. She was thinking it too.

_ Their friends. _

They left the safe house without their friends. Raven, Harper, Monty and Kane were somewhere upstairs when the attack happened. 

They abandoned them. 

Before they left, they heard screaming, yet they just ran away. 

They didn’t know who got out. 

They didn’t know who survived. 

_ Did anyone survive? _

Clarke forced her emotions down. This wasn’t the time to spiral. They did what they had to for survival. They followed orders. Even if it wasn’t right, it was what they had to do.

(Yet, that didn’t make her feel any better.)

“We don’t know what happened. All we know is that we got out.”

Bellamy sat up abruptly. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought.” His fist clenched at his side. “I should have—“

“We did what we had to do.” Clarke copied him and sat up. 

“If it was what we had to do, then why does it feel so wrong?” Bellamy shut his eyes tightly. “What if they’re still at the safe house right now? Being killed, or tortured? We need to go back. We need to help—”

“Kane told us to go,” she said strongly. “He knew better than us. If he thought we could help, he would’ve told us to stay. If he didn’t think we could all get out, he would’ve said something. But he didn’t. He told us to run. He told us to stay hidden. We need to follow that.”

“But—”

“We don’t know more than what Kane did when he gave us those orders. We have to trust him.”

He finally turned to her. His expression was heart-wrenching. “I can’t. I can’t sit here, not knowing. I have to know.”

_ Gryffindors _ . 

He was loyal to his friends — just as loyal as a Hufflepuff — but he was brave enough to be reckless. She wasn’t going to let him make any stupid decisions.

“One night,” she told him. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “You’re going to stay here for one night. If we still want to check the safe house tomorrow morning, we will. But not tonight.”

“But—“

“We’re exhausted and bruised. We both are terrified. If we go back, we couldn’t do anything anyways.” She smiled tightly. “Tomorrow morning.”

It was an empty promise. She wasn’t planning on letting him go back to the safe house, even if he wanted to.

He hesitated. She could tell he wasn’t happy with her answer. 

She was okay with that. He could be annoyed with her, as long as he listened and stayed safe. Him being annoyed with her was better than him being dead.

Finally, he blew out a long sigh. “Fine. First thing in the morning.” 

He was closing off from her. She never expected something to hurt so much. 

They sat in silence for a long moment. His breathing was shallow and his muscles tensed. She wished that she could help him, but she knew that she wasn’t what he needed in that moment.

Still, she spoke.

“I know… I know we don’t always see eye to eye.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye. “I know we have different perspectives. We approach problems differently. We… we aren’t the same.”

Bellamy rested his chin in the palm of his hand and simply watched her as she spoke.

She continued. “I just… If I seem cold, or distant, or  _ whatever,  _ just remember that. While not every rumour about Hogwarts houses are true, there’s a distinction there. You were willing to rush upstairs; I knew we had to get out. Did I want to go back for our friends? Of course. I’m not heartless, contrary to popular belief. But I knew the way to save as many people as possible meant doing what I did, and—”

“Clarke,” he said quickly. Her mouth snapped shut. “I’m not upset with you.”

“I didn’t think that,” she lied.

Bellamy gave her a look that told her that he knew the truth. “I’m not upset with you. I’m not judging you for saving us.” He reached for her hand and pulled it into his lap. “You’re right. We’re different. Our responses are different. I… I act with my heart, while you act with your head. That’s not me saying you don’t have a heart or you’re heartless — I just mean you think before you act.” He looked sheepish. “I don’t. I charge without a second thought. If my friends are in trouble, I help. No matter what.”

Clarke averted her gaze. “Okay.”

He squeezed her hand. “Okay.” 

He relinquished his hold on her and stood up from the bed. He winced as he stretched. He was bruised from the explosions. So was she — she could feel it all down her side. She could also feel dried blood along her neck. 

“Do you want me to heal you?” she asked.

“We shouldn’t use magic,” he reminded her, already walking backwards. “I’m going to shower.”

Before he could leave the room, she called to him. “Bellamy?”

They locked eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

The corners of his lips tugged up. “I’m glad you’re safe, too, Clarke.”

“We’ll find them,” she told him. “We’ll be okay. All of us.”

With that, he left the room, and she was left alone. Her head fell into her hands. Her eyes stared unblinking at the threads of her pants.

_ Raven’s pants,  _ she corrected herself.

Merlin. Raven.

She didn’t know if she was alive, or dead, or being tortured. Her throat burned as she thought of her coy smile earlier that day, after she came into the room after training.

It was a painful moment when she realized she never thought of the girl as  _ Raven _ before. It was always  _ Reyes _ — a name she grew familiar with from Quidditch.

But they were different than it was last year, when they were on opposite sides of the pitch. It was different than last month, when they were on opposite sides of a wand.

They were friends. They were friends, and Clarke didn’t know if she’d ever get to tell her that. She didn’t know if she’d ever get another opportunity to tell the older girl that she cared about her, that she meant more to her than remaining on last name basis.

She bit down on her lip to keep the sobs in her chest. 

.

When she woke up, she was disoriented. It was still dark out. The mattress was lumpy. She was sweating too, and she realized she was still wearing her clothes from earlier that day.

Clarke sat up suddenly, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, memories rushing back to her.

They were attacked. The safe house fell. She didn’t know if anyone else survived. They were on their own. 

Her eyes came to rest on Bellamy, who was in the opposite bed, still fast asleep. His blanket was tangled around his legs and his face was twisted with discomfort.

Clarke felt a little more at peace when she saw him there. She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but it was before he came back from his shower. She knew it was ridiculous, but she had been scared that he was never coming back.

_ Right _ . Like he could’ve died in the shower. It was only water raining down on him in there — not spells from people that wanted them dead.

With her heart rate starting to settle, she shrugged off her robe and laid back in bed.

The city wasn’t silent, but it wasn’t as loud as it was earlier. She could hear what she assumed to be transportation contraptions rolling up and down the streets, and she heard shuffling above her — clearly another occupants of the hotel was awake and moving around. 

She turned in bed so she was facing Bellamy. She watched his chest rise and fall several times. The steadiness was soothing.

Her eyelids started to get heavy soon after that. When she fell back to sleep, her thoughts were much more peaceful than earlier.

* * *

**_November 15, 1997_ **

* * *

She was kneeling on the edge of the mattress, her eyes focused on the wound in front of her. 

“I don’t know how you slept with this,” she said. Her fingers were gentle as she prodded the skin. Bellamy winced and pulled away from her the slightest bit. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” He leaned back into her touch. 

Clarke tried her best to be gentle as she moved some of his curls off the nape of his neck. The wound wasn’t anything serious, just a long scrape against this shoulder, but she knew it must’ve hurt. She couldn’t tell what it was from, but she knew it was too jagged to be from magic. He must’ve got it when the cabinet exploded behind them. 

“I could heal this quickly with magic,” she told him. “I know you said no magic, but I don’t think there’s anyone around here that would notice something as low powered as a healing charm.”

She dropped her hands from his skin and waited for his response. After only a moment of deliberation, he nodded.

“You’re right.”

She made quick work of healing the cut along his shoulder, and he visibly relaxed after she did. It felt good to have her wand in her hands and to have magic flowing through her.

“Thank you,” he told her, his voice less tense than moments before. He rolled his shoulder, testing out the movement of it. “It feels good.”

Clarke couldn’t blame her boldness on her exhaustion anymore, but that didn’t stop her from speaking.

“Need some Muggle magic?”

He turned back to her, a sly smirk on his lips. It was a smirk that made her heart flip. “Hilarious, Griffin. You’re hilarious.” While his tone was dry, she could tell he was joking with her by his smile. He turned his head, giving her access to his shoulder. “Bring it here.”

She swooped in and pressed a quick kiss to the cloth covering his shoulder. While his kiss had been sweet and slow the night before, this one was more playful. They both snickered at the action, like they were sharing an old joke. 

It felt good to laugh, especially after such a heavy and stressful night. 

“All better?” she teased. He rolled his eyes playfully at her. As soon as she put her wand away, she continued speaking, all hints of teasing gone. “We shouldn’t stay here for long,” she commented. “I know you said we would’ve lost anyone following us, but they could’ve easily followed our taxi here.”

Bellamy rolled his shoulder a few times and turned to face her. “You’re right. We need a plan.”

“We have to assume we’re going to be on our own for a while,” she said slowly. She almost hated to bring it up, but it was needed. “Kane told us Order safe houses related to the Ministry are compromised, and we don’t know any safe houses run by people outside of the Ministry.”

“So we’re stuck,” he concluded. “We won’t be able to get back into the Order safe houses without knowing someone  _ in  _ the Order.”

They both realized all of this yesterday, but it was another thing to say it out loud. The air felt heavier.

“What about other safe houses?” she wondered. “There have to be other organizations outside of the Order, right? Not everyone against the Dark Lord joins Dumbledore’s group.”

Bellamy looked at her warily. “I don’t know… I don’t even know who’s in the Order, never mind if there are other organizations out there.”

She chewed on her lip. “Okay, well, what about back in my fifth year? Potter was running something to combat Umbridge.”

“The D.A.?” 

“Yeah. You were in that, right?”

“I was — so was Raven — but I don’t know what happened to anyone else.” He looked thoughtful. That look alone managed to sparke hope in her chest.

“What about Gryffindors in your year? Or the year above you? There must’ve been tons.”

“Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. They joined.” His expression fell. “They all worked at the Ministry though, along with Lee Jordan. Kane said Ministry workers were compromised.”

“Ministry workers  _ in the Order _ ,” she corrected. “Maybe they weren’t in the Order.”

“But we don’t know for sure.”

Clarke racked her brain, trying to think of others that could help them. “What about the twins?”

“The Weasley twins?” Bellamy shook his head. “They were part of the D.A., but they’re Weasleys. That family is known for standing with Dumbledore. Do you really think they wouldn’t be part of his secret organization?”

“They don’t work at the Ministry though,” she insisted. “Maybe they can get us to a safe house.”

“No, but they’re being watched because of who their family is. Their brother in your year was good friends with Potter. I doubt they’re safe.”

Clarke was growing more and more worried. 

“We’re going to have to give up on the Order and safe houses,” Bellamy told her. “We don’t know anyone that’s part of it and that’s not being watched. For all we know, all the safe houses they were running were compromised. Maybe the whole fucking thing was compromised.”

Clarke rubbed her temples. “I wish we knew more.”

He got up from the bed and began pacing. “We’re in the dark about a lot of things. We don’t know what happened out here over the last few months. We don’t know what happened that exposed Kane or other Ministry workers. We don’t know the state of the wizarding world.”

“The Prophet won’t be any help either,” she said, her nose wrinkling. “The Dark Lord infiltrated that years ago.”

Bellamy sighed heavily. “So, we don’t know who we can trust out there. We don’t have any means of communication. We don’t have a news source. We have no places to hide in.”

The hope was being sucked out, piece by piece.

They were so fucked.

“Nobody knows where we are, and we don’t know who to contact. We’re cut off from the outside world.”

“I know.” They were talking in circles, but she was still struggling to wrap her mind around the whole situation. “We’re going to need a different plan. Start from scratch.” They locked eyes. “We’re on our own.”

The truth that came with that statement hit her hard.

She was officially on the run with Bellamy Blake. It was going to be just the two of them — and it was going to stay that way for a while.

From now on, he was the only person in the world that she could trust.

Bellamy sat down heavily beside her. Neither of them knew what to say. The silence was heavy and consuming.

“Alright,” he finally said. “We’re on our own. We can’t stay here, either.”

Neither of them had much money — Muggle or wizard. They didn’t have any places left to run to.

She asked the question burning at the front of both of their minds. “Where do we go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping this chapter wasn't as terrible as I'm thinking it is. This chapter is some weird transition one, and I had the strangest time writing Clarke in the Muggle world. Poor lil pure-blood baby Clarke, she doesn't even know what a car is called :')
> 
> Disclaimer, I was totally inspired by the Harry Potter films while writing this chapter. And... I mean... I USUALLY am because this is a HP AU, but this chapter especially. In DH Part 1, the trio visit a Muggle London intersection straight after they're attacked. I loved the visuals of that scene a lot, so I couldn't help but do a little call-back here.
> 
> Also... If you know me, you know I adore the Weasley twins, so shout out to my faves in this chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Paw  
> Follow me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	14. Chapter 13: Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer than I thought it would. Tbh, that’s mainly because I didn’t want to edit. Whoops. 
> 
> Also, quick disclaimer. I’ve never been to England before so any mention of stores/cities/towns in this fic is based off knowledge I got from google. If I got anything wrong, that’s why!!! :)

**_CLARKE_ **

_ November 15, 1997 _

* * *

As it turned out, the first thing two magical beings did before  _ officially  _ going into hiding was make a stop at a muggle store. The sign above the store was bright, burning the letters TESCO into her brain.

Neither of them stocked up before they went on the run for the first time, but she had to admit it sounded like a good idea.

She wore her brown hair loose to hide her face, just in case. Her snake locket was tucked into her wand pocket of her robe, which was folded in half and draped over her arm.

Bellamy claimed their under-robes drew less attention than their long overcoats, so they both shed their cloaks. Clarke felt exposed without the robe wrapped around her shoulders, and she felt vulnerable without her wand in her hand. 

She also felt lost. She’d never been in a supermarket before. Luckily, Bellamy guessed as much and promised not to leave her side.

They were currently standing in front of a wall full of boxes with cartoon characters on them. Bellamy was examining the boxes carefully, while she kept glancing around the store, waiting for a Death Eater to attack them.

“You look suspicious,” he commented. He reached forward and grabbed one box she recognized — it was the box for breakfast cereal with marshmallows. 

“I’m cautious,” she argued. “You're barely paying attention.”

“I’m watching, but I’m not drawing attention to ourselves.” He was right. She was looking around too much and shifting uneasily, while he was blending in with the crowd. “We’re going to get pulled aside for shoplifting if you keep it up.”

While Clarke didn’t understand a lot of Muggle things, she understood that. 

“I’m just worried.” She turned her attention to the boxes of cereal in front of her and pretended to examine a box.

“Do you really think a Death Eater would be shopping in Tesco?” he prompted.

She almost laughed out loud at the image. If they did get ambushed in a Tesco by a Death Eater, she would’ve died from laughter before they could reach her.

“No, you’re right.” She put the box back on the shelf. “Why are we looking at cereal? Don’t you need milk? It’s not like we’ll have a fridge.”

He shrugged and tossed the box of Lucky Charms into the cart. “True, but we can eat it dry. It might suck, but it’ll last and it would be better than having to eat moss or some shit.”

Clarke reached forward into the shopping cart, pulling up a can of soup. She flipped it over a few times in her hands to try and look busy, and she let her mind wander.

Despite being in the middle of a crisis, her first thought was of Bellamy and their interaction seconds before the safe house was overrun by Death Eaters.

_ She wanted to kiss him. _

His lips were pressed against her fingers, performing ‘Muggle magic’ to make her wound better. The corners of his lips were turned up devilishly and his eyes sparkled, almost like he knew  _ exactly  _ what he was doing to her.

She remembered feeling the urge to close the gap between them and kiss him — a  _ real  _ kiss though. 

She didn’t know where that urge had come from.

She snuck a glance at Bellamy out of the corner of his eye. He was still reading the side of the box. Her eyes caught the curve of his lips automatically and her heart fluttered. 

Maybe she lied earlier. 

She knew exactly where the urge to kiss him had come from.

_ She was definitely attracted to him. _

Not only because he was breathtaking — which he was, by the way — but because of who he was. Over the last few weeks, she fell for him.

She enjoyed being around him. Once they got past their reputations and started seeing each other for who they truly were, she found herself  _ wanting  _ to be around him.

He asked her only a few days ago if she trusted him, and her answer had only solidified since then. She trusted him easily and wholly.

She thought of how he answered the exact same question when she asked him back at the safe house.  _ ‘With my life,’  _ he told her.

After everything, she had to agree with the way he put it. She trusted him with her life. She trusted him to watch her back and protect her when she wasn’t looking. She trusted him to lead, and she felt confident following him. She trusted him to be there for her, like he had been in the kitchen on more than one occasion.

She didn’t know when it changed. Maybe it happened so slowly that she hadn’t even realized it.

_ She was falling for him. _

It was the little things that brought her to this feeling. It was his concern for her when she was hurt. How he wore his cloak while cooking so she didn’t feel too overwhelmed by everything Muggle. The way he didn’t look down on her, even after she admitted her ignorance about the world he grew up in. The way his touches brought her strength, how she sought him out when she felt like she was breaking into pieces. How their banter back and forth had turned light and playful. How he seemed to sense what she was thinking and feeling even before she knew, which was helpful during training and their escape.

The realization that she liked him was terrifying. 

She was so used to living a life that was closed off from others. She grew up hiding who she was and what she thought, out of pure necessity to her survival. She’d never truly grown close to any of her housemates at Hogwarts, she never fully trusted her mother, she was always a stranger in her own life.

She had grown used to being alone.

Feeling so strongly about someone was different. It was terrifying and daunting. It made her want to run in the opposite direction.

Love was weakness. Caring about someone was weakness. If she didn’t care about people, she couldn’t get hurt.

Bellamy’s shoulder brushed against hers and he smiled down at her. She couldn’t help but smile back.

_ She didn’t want to be alone.  _ Not anymore.

She didn’t want to run away from this — whatever it was; a friendship, a bond, something more. 

Even though it was foreign to her, she trusted him. She felt safe with him. Clarke doubted he’d ever betray that trust.

_ That was a first for her. _

So, while she was terrified by how she was feeling, she was reassured that things would be okay because  _ this was Bellamy. _ She doubted she’d feel this calm if it was anyone else. 

“I think that’s enough food,” Bellamy said. He dropped the box of Lucky Charms into the cart. “We need to get clothing.”

She glanced down at the only items that she could call her own; Raven’s Muggle clothing and the wizarding robe draped over her arm.

Bellamy was in a similar situation as her. All he owned was a set of Muggle clothing and his cloak.

“Muggles dress weird,” she said simply. Bellamy snorted and came up beside her.

“Get used to it, Princess, ‘cause you’re going to be dressing like one now.”

.

An hour later, Clarke learned that she hated denim.

She also learned that she could disapparate with a lot more stuff than she originally thought she could. She was worried they’d be caught in a splinching accident, but she did a quick check and was pleased to find all of her body parts still attached once the world was formed around her.

The next thing she noticed was how different their surroundings were to the city they came from. They stood at the edge of what looked like a small town. In London, they walked busy streets and dodged transportation devices, but this new place was relatively silent. They were the only ones on the street, and all Muggle transportation devices were parked. 

It was quaint and it reminded her of small wizarding villages. The houses were squished together, some seemingly leaning onto each other to keep upright. There was a stretch of shops on the road they stood on, each showcasing some type of Muggle clothing. 

“This is where my mom used to take us camping when we were kids,” Bellamy explained as soon as they both became oriented. He gestured to their right, towards a thick forest. “There’s a hiking path that way. We’ll walk those for a few miles, then branch off.”

Clarke tried her best to hide her apprehension. She’d never been camping before, other than for the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago. Even then, that was in a  _ wizard  _ tent — not Muggle. Wizarding tents were known for being more comfortable and adorned with magic.

She knew they needed to do this though. Between the two of them, they had a handful of Knuts and a couple of Muggle bills, which was worth next to nothing. They couldn’t afford to stay another night in a Muggle hotel and they couldn’t go back to the wizarding world. They didn’t know how long they were going to be on the run for, which meant they had to make their remaining money last as long as possible. 

“We’ll be fine,” Bellamy assured her. He shifted his bags in his hands. While a feather-light charm was placed on the bags, they were still awkward to carry. “Let’s head in to town. We need to eat.”

She bit her lip. “But… money?” Clarke wasn’t exactly used to living on a budget, since she grew up in one of the wealthiest families in the wizarding world, but the war had given her a hard and rough introduction to it.

“We’ll have enough for a meal at the breakfast place I know.” He bumped her shoulder. “Besides, we need  _ one  _ good meal before we run away.”

They started walking into town. 

Clarke grinned. “You make it sound like we’re two young people running away from our families to be with each other.”

She desperately ignored the way her heart raced from her words. Even though she was joking about it now, she couldn’t stop her mind from spiralling.

_ What if we were actually together?  _ What if we were just teenagers trying to escape reality with each other, not run away from a war?

It was a nice thought. 

“Oh, the great Clarke Griffin writing love stories about us.” She bumped his arm, rougher than before. She was acutely aware of him beside her. “Please, share more. Enlighten me on our romantic adventures.”

She shook her head fondly, and decided to humour both of them. What was the harm in letting her mind run wild with fantasies? They didn’t have much positivity in life at the moment, and she wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to find a simple pleasure.

“Obviously, our families don’t want us together.”

“Obviously.”

“So we decided to run off on our own because we  _ need  _ to be together.”

He cocked his eyebrow. “ _ Need _ , huh?”

“Without a doubt.” She was trying her best to hide her smile and blush. Clarke ignored how her stomach felt like it was falling. “I had to sneak away first, so I slipped out of my house in the middle of the night.”

“Do you parents know?”

“Definitely. They found out as soon as they woke up. I left them a note so they wouldn’t worry.”

Bellamy snorted and she couldn’t keep her smile contained anymore. “Merlin. Okay, what about me?”

She lifted her eyebrow in silent challenge. “What about you?” Clarke turned the question on him easily.

He feigned seriousness. He pursed his lips in thought. “Well, I told Octavia where I was going. Obviously.”

She teasingly echoed their words earlier. “Obviously.”

“And I told my mother, too. She wouldn’t have been happy that I was leaving her and Octavia, but she always liked you and she’d understand.”

Clarke glanced away from him, her heart skipping a beat. She tried her best to keep her voice even. “Your mother likes me? Nice stamp of approval.” 

“Yeah, she loves you because I never told her that you were the one to slip laxatives to the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

She curled over from the force of her laughter. When she glanced up at Bellamy, he was staring at her with a goofy grin that made her heart warm.

“Merlin, Blake, it was one time. Let it go!”

“Never.”

.

Both of their good moods disappeared ten minutes later when they entered a dingy restaurant.

The interior was warm and outdated; floral patterns, wooden panels, and prestige wall paper dotted the large room. It was homey and well kept, and it made her relax instantly.

It reminded her of the better days at Hogsmeade. 

As soon as they slid into opposite ends of a booth, Clarke turned her eyes to the television behind the dine-on countertop. 

“A movie?” Clarke questioned, her eyes scanning the moving pictures.

Bellamy turned in the direction she was facing. “No. Not a movie, the news.”

He explained that one of many ways Muggles stayed updated and informed was with televised news broadcasts. It was hard for her to understand how movies were pre-recorded on tapes, while the news was live.

She didn’t have time to ponder it. As soon as Bellamy finished explaining it to her, the images on the screen changed. BREAKING NEWS flashed in bold red letters across the screen.

“Devastating news for Sunbury as of late last night.” The voice of the reporter was grave and Bellamy froze in the booth opposite of her. She kept glancing between the horrified expression of Bellamy and the face of the unknown reporter. “Emergency services were called to this quaint little town in the northern parts of Surrey, and we have received reports of several blocks of houses catching fire and burning down.”

The next image in the scene made her blood run cold. 

She knew this place. 

She’d walked those streets only weeks before.

“Kane’s.” She spoke mindlessly. A numb feeling was filling her chest, fighting back the rising emotions. She was in shock.

Bellamy quickly stood up from where they were seated and dashed across the empty restaurant. When he reached the television, he cranked the volume. 

“—the officer in charge says they suspect arson is involved. If you have any information, you are urged to step forward.” 

Clarke didn’t know when she moved, but she was standing beside Bellamy now, her knuckles white from gripping the countertop so tightly. Her legs felt weak and unstable under her.

“Fuck,” Bellamy breathed. He turned to her, a wild look in his eye. “They… they burned everything.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. All she could do was continue to watch the horrific images flash across the screen, showing raging fires and charred buildings.

She was there only a day before. She was living there.  _ Her friends were living there.  _

Anger was rising in her.

_ Anger and grief. _

“— officials are reporting several fatalities, with even more wounded. Nearly fifty people were injured in this mass accident.”

The next image to scroll by the screen showed the burning buildings from afar. While the image was focusing on the small neighbourhood burning, Clarke’s eyes were drawn to the sky.

She froze.

“Bellamy.”

Her finger pressed against the screen shakily. The sky was glowing green. The clouds were falling over themselves, moving like they were slithering in the sky. A flash of lightning illuminated the clouds, and the image of a skull became clearer.

She recoiled as if she’d been burned. Her lungs burned from the lack of oxygen. She felt faint, like she was about to topple over any second.

That was the dark mark. The dark mark had been cast in the sky above Kane’s safe house.

She’d seen this mark more times than she could count, yet it terrified her to no end. It meant death. When it was cast in the sky, it meant someone had been murdered below it.

_ It meant victory. _

Beyond that, it was what was tattooed into the skin of all his followers. On her mother’s arm, on her friends’ arms—

It would’ve been on her arm if she hadn’t got out when she did, if—

“Clarke, hey.” Bellamy came into focus when he stepped between her and the television. “Focus. Breathe.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to stop the world from spinning out of control. She followed Bellamy’s words and sucked in a deep breath.

Bellamy’s hand came into focus. His palm was pressed into her back, helping keep her steady. Her legs must’ve been weaker than she thought. Maybe she should sit...

“They burned the house,” she said, her voice shaking. She leaned against the counter. “They destroyed it.”

She didn’t know what she expected. They wouldn’t have left a house standing, especially not if it used to be a safe house. It was a symbol of hope and safety. It was a home to people that defied them.

_ It used to be her home. _

That realization hit her hard. She never had a home before, not even when she lived in Griffin Manor. She never considered that home.

“The dark mark,” she mumbled. Clarke almost didn’t want to say anything. “That means they killed someone. They… oh Merlin, what if—”

She couldn’t get the words out.

_ What if they killed the others? _

Raven, Harper, Monty, Kane.

“No,” Bellamy said strongly. His grip on her shoulders tightened, grounding her. “No, not possible. It… it was for the Muggles. It had to have been. The news said there were fatalities.”

She couldn’t get the image of Kane bleeding on the stairs out of her mind. She could imagine her friends suffering, screaming.

_ It was an image she’d seen more times than she’d ever admit. _

“It wasn’t them, Clarke.” Bellamy was in denial. His words didn’t make her feel any better. She knew just as well as he did that neither of them knew the truth. “It couldn’t have been.”

She looked at him —  _ truly looked at him.  _

He was on the verge of breaking. She could see it in his eyes. He was desperately clutching onto this lie he was telling himself, just like a drowning man clutched at a life raft.

He had to believe they were alive. If they weren’t, that meant they left them to die. She knew Bellamy well enough to know he’d blame himself for that.

_ (Just like how she blamed herself for it too.) _

“You’re right,” she agreed, even though her words were hollow. She didn’t believe them, but she could at least pretend to for him. “It couldn’t have been them.”

She could see some tension leave his shoulders and desperation from his eyes. He looked exhausted and scared, and she didn’t blame him. She was terrified too.

They were broken out of their thoughts by the waitress. “Are you two ready to order?”

Clarke’s gaze lingered on Bellamy for a moment longer. When she faced the waitress, she plastered a fake smile on her face.

“I think we changed our minds.” She reached for Bellamy’s hand and tugged him. “Let’s go.”

.

Clarke shifted uncomfortably on the air mattress. She’d been laying there for hours, but she wasn’t the slightest bit tired. 

They managed to find a good spot to set up their tent, mixed in with a Muggle camping ground. They arrived late in the day after hiking for a few hours, which meant they set up their tent during sunset.

That was an experience she never wanted to have again.

Between the two of them, it only took them a few hours and half an argument. She was tempted to call that a success.

Clarke wanted to set up protective wards, but she didn’t know any. Neither did Bellamy. Apparently, Hogwarts didn’t teach their students how to survive while on the run from Death Eaters.

Clarke shifted again on the mattress and she cursed at how loud it squeaked. 

“Go to seep.” Bellamy’s voice was muffled by his forearm, but it still made her jump. “They can’t find us here.”

It looked as if he couldn’t fall asleep either. 

“That’s not why I’m up.” Well, it wasn’t the  _ whole  _ reason. She was thinking about other things.

(How her friends would’ve screamed as they died.)

(How the green in the sky over Kane’s house sent chills down her back.)

(How the silver of the masks that stormed the house made her heart stop.)

( _ How fucked they were. _ )

“I’m thinking about how shitty this mattress is.” As if to prove her point, she flipped around again, electing more squeaks. “And I’m not tired.”

Bellamy copied Clarke and moved around on his mattress, causing it to squeak. She smiled into the darkness.

“Yeah, I’m not tired either. Too much on my mind.”

Now that they both shifted around, they were facing each other. She could see his silhouette and the shimmer of his eyes from the moonlight making its way into the tent.

This moment felt more intimate than any other moment they had shared. They were shrouded in a blanket of darkness and surrounded by silence. The moonlight caused a milky glow to fall upon them. 

The world seemed so far away. It was just them, laying feet away from each other, in an otherwise empty world.

She felt closer to him, like a string was connecting both of their souls. It felt like, just by staring at him, she was letting him know everything she was thinking about.

Clarke didn’t want to break the peaceful moment. She whispered to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“A lot.”

She smiled. “That’s specific,” she teased. “But, I get it. I feel the same way.” Her voice turned somber. “I feel like… like I don’t know.”

Bellamy paused. His voice was softer when he spoke next. “Like you’re lost?”

“Yeah. That’s it exactly.” It was hard to swallow. She was thrown by how well Bellamy understood her.

They were both silent for a moment. Then, he let out a long breath. “Me too.”

Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she could see him a little clearer now. She studied the slope of his neck to his shoulders, and the boldness of his jawline, and the curve of his lips. She wished there was more light so she could study the freckles dotted along his skin, or so she could memorize the shades of brown bidding in his irises. 

“I’m scared,” he admitted after a while.

Clarke wanted to reach for him.

She didn’t.

“Me too,” she said.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

She didn’t either. 

“We’ll get through this,” she promised him. “Wars don’t last forever. Things will end. We’ll get to go home. You’ll reunite with your sister.” After a slight pause, she continued. “Raven, Monty, and Harper, too.”

“We don’t know that,” he said. She could hear the emotion in his voice and it made her heart swell with pain. “We don’t— I don’t—“

She didn’t hesitate this time, and reached for him. Their mattresses were close enough together that she didn’t have to stretch far to grasp onto his hand. 

“We have to have hope.” 

It was something she didn’t have much of, but she clung to thin threads of it. 

(Maybe not for herself, but she’d do that for him.)

“We don’t know what the future will bring, but we can’t worry about that. We can’t plan for when this war is over, you’re right, but we can  _ hope _ . We hope and we live in the present.  _ We survive. _ ”

His fingers tangled easily with hers and their palms rested flush against each other. This position was becoming familiar between the two of them, and it made her heart flutter every time.

“How am I supposed to live if I don’t know what happened to them? If… If the dark mark was in the sky because of them?”

She doubted she’d ever know the answer to his question. 

“I don’t know.” 

In this case, not knowing the fate of their friends was worse than knowing the truth. Worrying and wondering about them was torture.

_ If they knew, even if their fate was terrible, then they’d know.  _ Often, her imagination came up with worse scenarios than what were reality.

She could sense a shift in him right away, just from the way he turned away from her, from the way his fingers flexed against hers. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve—“

“Bellamy,” she breathed. “No. We did what we had to do.”

“What we  _ have _ to do and what we  _ should _ do are two different things.”

She faltered because what he said was true. Sometimes, the right choices were the hardest ones.

“Yeah… They are.” Her thumb swept over the back of his hand. “I’m sorry we had to leave them.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

She shifted closer to him. “It isn’t yours either.”

They were both silent as they contemplated their friends they left behind. Clarke knew Bellamy was dedicated to them, she knew it from the moment she walked into the safe house. Those were his people — his family — and he would’ve risked everything to keep them safe.

Clarke knew the choice to leave was something that would haunt him. She could already see it weighing heavily on his shoulders. Even if they survived without a scratch, leaving them behind would be something he would regret until the day he died.

It was something she regretted too. She wished that everyone could have got out. She wished they had more time. She wished she could’ve helped more than just Bellamy.

“That’s my Boggart,” he said suddenly. “Losing the people I love.”

She swallowed thickly. Clarke remembered back in her third year when she first faced a Boggart. It was a magical creature that transformed into the thing they feared the most. For some, it was spiders; for others, it was their bullies. 

_ For Bellamy, it was something much deeper than that. _

That was one thing they had in common — deep fears. 

“Do you remember when Professor Lupin brought in one?” he asked. “Back in my fourth year?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Bellamy’s lips were twisted into a bitter smile. She could see the ghosts he carried through the darkness.

“The Boggart transformed into Octavia for me. She was dead.” Just hearing him talk about it knocked the breath from her lungs. His voice was so raw. “She was lying on the floor — broken, bleeding. Her chest wasn’t moving, her eyes were  _ staring  _ right through me.” He let out a dry laugh— one without humour, filled with pain. “Fuck, I can still remember all the details; how her lips were pale, how the blood splattered along the side of her face.”

Clarke struggled to speak. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

He was silent. Clarke knew nothing she could say would make him feel better. She couldn’t promise him that his sister was okay, because she didn’t know. She couldn’t promise him that what he saw wasn’t going to come true, because neither of them controlled the future. She couldn’t promise him that they’d do everything in their power for Octavia to live, because for all they knew, she could be dead already.

So, she didn’t say anything. She simply held onto his hand, her grip as strong as his was. She creased the back of his hand soothingly, and hoped it was comforting.

“I’m here,” she told him after the silence stretched for a few minutes. His fingers tightened.

_ I’m here for you.  _

When he sniffed and lifted his free hand to his face, Clarke realized he must’ve been crying. While they’d both been close to tears before, she’d never seen him cry.

Her throat tightened and she could feel her own tears prick at her eyes. 

“Hey,” she said, her voice cracking. She scooted closer to him the slightest bit. “I know I can’t fix things, but I’m here to listen.”

“I know.” His voice cracked too. Bellamy took a moment to compose himself. When he spoke next, his voice was more controlled. “Lupin told us to fight against the Boggart by thinking of something funny to turn it in to. How the hell was I supposed to think of something funny when it was my sister lying dead on the ground?” 

“You were fourteen. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

He blew out a long breath. “Yeah, well… Now, I don’t think the Boggart would just be Octavia. It would be O, and Raven, and Monty, and Harper, and Kane.” He squeezed her hand. “And you.”

_ They’d come along way from hurling insults at each other. _

“I don’t know what my Boggart would be anymore,” she replied. “I don’t know if any  _ one  _ thing scares me.”

“Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“Oh, I definitely am afraid of things,” she corrected. “I’m actually afraid of  _ so many  _ things that I don’t know which is my greatest fear.”

_ (Losing your home,  _ something seemed to tell her.)

_ (But I’ve already lost it. Griffin Manor, Hogwarts, Kane’s safe house.) _

“When I was thirteen, my Boggart was a Death Eater.” She closed her eyes. She didn’t have to try hard to remember that moment— it would always be permanent etched into her mind. “Lupin assumed that I knew what a Death Eater was from textbooks. He didn’t press me about it.” Her lips curled up from the memory. It was a bitter smile, just like Bellamy’s was moments before. “Lupin was wrong though. I knew what a Death Eater was before I read any books on them. And it wasn’t just a  _ faceless, masked  _ person in front of me. It was my mother.”

Clarke cracked her eyes open and looked at Bellamy. He was staring intently at her. “How fucked up is that? That my biggest fear as a kid was my mother dressed as a Death Eater?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. Nobody has to be, except for her.” 

Clarke didn’t know when they shifted closer, but her elbow was pressed against his now. She could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves. While they were still on their own mattresses, she knew they were pressed so closely together that it might as well have been one.

She was tempted to make that change. Clarke thought of shifting over completely and letting their arms draped over each other. She thought of how calming laying beside him would be, how strong she’d feel with him at her side.

She shook off her thoughts and continued speaking.

“I don’t know how young I was, but I remember digging in my mother’s closet for something. I’m pretty sure I was trying to find a Christmas gift. I pulled down her old Hogwarts uniform from the top shelf and the mask fell down, right in front of me.

“I knew, right then, what it meant. I knew my mother used to be one of them; that she used to be one of the bad guys. I didn’t tell her what I found. I got one of the house elves to help me put everything back the way it was before I found it. I never told anyone, actually.”

Bellamy reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. She never even realized she was crying. When did she start crying?

“Everything changed that day,” she said, her voice coming out quieter. “I keep telling myself that I had a normal childhood, and I relatively did, but when is it normal to distrust your own mother? After finding that, I couldn’t even  _ look  _ at her the same way. I never felt more alone.”

_ I felt alone for a long time.  _ She thought of the first time where she didn’t feel alone in the world.

_ That was at Kane’s.  _ That was the first time she could be herself without fearing what others would think. It was the first time she felt like she belonged.

_ And now it was gone. _

“You were a kid. You had every right to be scared of her.”

“I knew she’d never hurt me, but to know she hurt others?” She felt physically sick talking about it. “I couldn’t do things after that, I couldn’t…” She swallowed back some of her emotion. “For most of my life, I was pretending to be someone I’m not. I pretended like I didn’t know the truth about my mother. I pretended like I wasn’t disgusted by their beliefs. And this wasn’t just with her — it was with  _ everyone. _ I isolated myself and pretended to be ignorant. I pretended not to know what was going on in the world and I stayed silent, just so I didn’t become a target myself. It was weak.”

She was weak. She didn’t do enough. She should’ve said something. She should’ve done something.

If she could do it all over, she would. Too bad life didn’t allow for redos. 

“It was what you had to do to survive,” Bellamy insisted. “Do you think you would still be alive if you did anything different?

It was funny, how the roles had reversed. Didn’t this conversation start with her telling him that they did what they did to survive?

“It wasn’t right. I could’ve stood up for people. I could’ve spoke out. Staying silent is being compliant.”

Why was he still laying beside her, her hand in his? Why wasn’t he pushing her away in disgust? Why didn’t he loath her choices the same way she loathed them?

_ You should have been braver,  _ she expected him to say.  _ Braver. Better. Stronger. _

Those words were the same ones she told herself.

Bellamy hesitated when he spoke. “You could’ve spoke up, but you did the right thing in the end. That’s what matters.”

“It’s my biggest regret,” she admitted. “I should’ve left earlier. I should’ve tried to help more people than I did. I was silent to protect myself, but how many more people could I have saved if I took more risks?”

“We can only change the future,” he told her. “I have regrets too. A lot of them. They’re in the past though, and the past is already written. The future can be shaped and changed, and  _ that’s  _ what we should focus on.” He smiled. “We make mistakes. We regret our actions and inactions. We make amends. We don’t repeat those same mistakes.”

_ I’m doing the same thing as before. I’m repeating my mistakes,  _ Clarke thought.  _ I’m running and hiding, all while people are dying and suffering. _

“Life isn’t that simple.”

She wished she was. She wished that she could separate the past from her future. She wished she could let go of her past mistakes and only look forward.

Clarke knew she’d carry these mistakes for the rest of her life, just as Bellamy carried his. No matter what the future brought, they’d never be able to let go of their regrets.

She turned onto her back, but didn’t make a move to drop his hand. She expected him to sever their contact, but he didn’t.

They fell silent. Space blossomed between them, although not an uncomfortable amount. She stared at the top of the tent, running the same thoughts over and over in her mind.

Clarke didn’t know how much time had passed when she next spoke. “What are we going to do?”

Bellamy didn’t answer right away. She assumed he fell asleep. 

Just as she was about to give up hope, he spoke. “I don’t know, but whatever we do, we’ll do it together. We’ll be okay.”

_ Together.  _ It was that promise again, the same one from Kane’s house. 

Somehow, between all the chaos, they’d become partners — like two magnets drawn together. He was the only person in the world she felt this connection to. 

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Goodnight.”

When she eventually fell asleep, it was to the sound of Bellamy’s even breaths and to the warmth of his palm against her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! The next chapter is already pre-written and just needs some editing, so im excited for that!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> Paw


	15. Chapter 14: Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter takes place between November 16 and November 24 (with the exception for the end half of this chapter, where the dates indicate). There aren’t any dates assigned to most sections, and I hope this decision makes sense after you read this chapter! Of course, if you have any questions, feel free to reach out.
> 
> Warning: coarse language, mentions of blood/violence/death

**_CLARKE_ **

The next few days were uneventful.

Clarke was reminded of those first few weeks after arriving at Kane’s. She was always on edge, always read to run, always ready to fight. 

But… nothing came.

She expected to be hunted or tracked down, but it was almost like they entered a new reality. They were isolated from the Muggle town by a several hour hike, and the campgrounds they stayed at were mostly empty. 

Once, Bellamy suggested they pack up the tent and walk a few more hours to the next campground, just to be sure nobody was following them. They did. They both felt better.

She didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this. The last time she was on the run, she barely slept a few hours at a time. She’d move hiding spots every 24 hours, most times less than that. She’d sleep during the day and move around at night.

This was different. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend that they were  _ normal;  _ that they weren’t running from people that wanted to kill them, that there wasn’t a war happening within their world. 

That they were simply teenagers on a camping trip. 

Despite a war raging a world away, being on the run was boring. Clarke never found herself struggling with boredom when she was on the run earlier that year, mostly because she didn’t have enough time or energy to be bored. At Kane’s they had entertainment and she had friends. Now, they spent their days in one place, hidden away from the world, with only each other to keep themselves entertained.

At least she still had Bellamy to help keep her from dying of boredom.

They tried not to talk about their friends’ fates too much. It was hard to ignore their worries, especially with nothing to do during the night or day, but neither of them wanted to disturb the peaceful routine they found themselves slipping in to.

The days passed slowly. They made up games to keep their minds occupied, their favourite being a balance game. Bellamy was better at it than she was, so she assumed the role of time keeper. He would lay flat on the ground, his wand balanced across the bridge of his nose. As he kept it steady, she timed him. 

“Ten more seconds until your record,” she told him, her voice mumbled so she didn’t startle him. She watched the wand tip from side to side as he tried to keep it steady. When he past his record, she let out a yelp of excitement, which caused him to jump. 

The wand tumbled to the ground. 

She cringed and Bellamy blew out a long breath. After they both remained frozen for a beat, he glanced at her without lifting his head completely from the ground. The corners of his lips were quirked up.

“That one’s on you.”

.

If she thought she knew Bellamy well before, she was wrong. She began to understand him in different ways; in ways she could only know by living with him and by spending every waking moment with him.

He woke up early  — always so damn early. Sometimes, he’d be rolling out of bed before the sun had completely risen. He tried not to wake her, but it was nearly impossible with the squeaking mattresses and the tight space.

He snored while he slept, but only if he went into a deep sleep. He always fell asleep first and she’d listen to his even breaths when she succumbed to sleep. So far, she only heard him snoring once, and it wasn’t half as bad as he made it out to be.

She also knew that he liked to do everything the Muggle way. At first, she thought it was because they were on the run and any performance of magic would draw attention to themselves. She was wrong though, because he told her that she could use magic for whatever to heat up the water if she wanted. Doing things the Muggle way must’ve reminded him of home.

_ Home.  _ That word again. Why was she always thinking of home, when neither of them had a home left?

Besides that, she also learned that he liked to keep things tidy and organized. He slept on his side and used one pillow. Even though he went to sleep with the blankets pulled up to his chin, he’d  _ always  _ wake up to them wrapped around his ankles. He kept his wand under his pillow, just like she did, and that was just one of the many things they understood about each other without having to talk about it.

He was kind and always thinking of others, although she already knew this from before. In the mornings, she’d usually wake up to him making breakfast. While breakfast was usually cereal or another packaged type of food, he’d always set it aside for her beside her bed, so she could eat right when she woke up.

He was smarter and more considerate than she ever gave him credit for. Bellamy thought of potential problems before they ever could become reality, like the issue of bathing, for example. He realized they never thought of how they’d stay clean while shopping at Tesco, and had spent nearly two hours trying to transfigure leaves into bars of soap. 

It was safe to say that, each day, she fell for him a little bit more.

.

They talked a lot. There wasn’t much else to do in the tent. They told bad jokes, although he would insist his weren’t bad. They traded stories from their days at Hogwarts, each giving a different perspective on conflicts from years ago.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said one evening, leaning forward. “ _ You  _ were the one that dyed all of my Quidditch uniforms red?”

He grinned. “Who else did you expect? Dean Thomas?”

She tossed her sock in his direction. “No, I should’ve guessed it was you, you brat.” Bellamy only laughed at her insult.

It was nice. She was thankful that it was Bellamy that she was stuck with.

.

Despite enjoying his company, she also needed space to herself. She liked to sit outside the tent, even though Bellamy warned her not to. She argued against him. There was barely anyone around the campgrounds, and whoever was around were all Muggles. 

She would watch the clouds float along the sky and, when the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, she’d watch the stars blink into existence. 

It reminded her that this war wasn’t going to last forever. There were bigger things in the universe, and they were only a speck of dust in relativity to the universe. It made her feel better to think about how small everything was. It made her feel like she could handle this war, even if it stretched on for a few more years.

_ Fuck.  _ A few more years.

Clarke wished she never thought of that.

.

When the moon was out and Bellamy was asleep, Clarke watched Bellamy’s chest rise and fall. Being beside him was calming and it made her feel like everything was going to be okay. 

She thought about the war again, and how she could survive if it lasted a few more years. She thought of being on the run with Bellamy for a few more years.

What would that look like? 

Would they stay together the whole time, or would they go their separate ways after a while? Would they stay hidden, or would they be chased and caught? Would they get desperate enough that they’d venture back into the wizarding world, or would they keep running? 

She didn’t know the answers. She tried to think of a world set a few years in the future, where she was still on the run with Bellamy. Maybe they wouldn’t be in the same place that they were now, maybe they wouldn’t even be in the same country, maybe they wouldn’t have to hide in tents anymore, but she was sure about one thing; she wanted him by her side.

That night, like most nights, she fell asleep to his even breaths. 

.

Clarke read the advanced charms book under the moonlight. Even though the campgrounds they were staying at were empty of Muggles, Bellamy advised her not to use magic in open sight. She resorted to a flashlight from the emergency kit they bought from the Muggle store.

_ Wandless magic requires immense concentration from the wizard or witch practicing. While not impossible, performing accurate magic without the use of a wand is difficult and rare. Even if the wizard or witch is skilled enough to perform simple charms wandlessly, there are very few wizards in history whom are able to perform advanced magic. _

_ Warning: wandless magic always produces weaker effects in relation to magic performed via wand. If it is imperative the spell used is to have a strong effect, the use of a wand is advised. _

Clarke blew through the pages detailing the history of wandless magic, having already read this section a dozen times over. When she reached the section detailing how to perform wandless magic, she slowed. 

It said that there were different parts to wandless magic. Most beginners started with spoken incantations and hand gestures, and the more advanced wizards only used hand gestures. She was disappointed to discover that the textbook didn’t contain any hand gestures for the spells.

She’d have to take her best guess.

After studying the pages for a while longer, she set the book to the side and glanced around their campsite. When she didn’t see any Muggles, she decided it would be safe to practice.

Clarke focused on a tree branch laying on the ground several feet away from her. She examined it for a long moment, feeling hesitant about the whole situation. What if she couldn’t do it? What if Kane was wrong, what if she didn’t have a talent when it came to wandless magic? 

She was doubting herself. Both Kane and the textbook said wandless magic was rare, so who was she to think she could perform it?

_ Just do it.  _

Without another moment wasted, Clarke stretched her hand towards the branch. “ _ Accio _ .”

When the branch didn’t budge, she blew out a loud huff of air and sat up straighter. She wasn’t going to let herself get frustrated or give up easily. If this was as hard as people said it was, she’d have to remain calm and dedicated.

After several more failed attempts, she reevaluated her strategy. Instead of just  _ pointing  _ in the direction of the branch, she tried to copy the movement of her wand if she were to perform this spell. 

_ Nothing. _

Clarke gritted her teeth. She tried to ignore the bud of frustration in her chest.  _ This is okay,  _ she tried to tell herself.  _ I have all the time in the world. _

All the time in the world.

.

Clarke reverted back to blonde after a few days without incident. While Bellamy didn’t say anything, she could see him frowning as she reversed his transfiguration. 

“It’s too warm,” she stated when it was clear she caught him looking at her.

“I can make it thinner. Keep it black.”

She stowed her wand, her hair back to it’s original colour. “I’ll be fine. There’s a lot of blonde Muggles. People won’t think twice.”

He gave her a sideways glance, but said nothing more on the subject.

.

_ What will we do? _

It was a question that haunted both of them, but they didn’t speak on it after that first day. The future looked bleak and unknown. All they knew for certain was that they couldn’t control anything.

They didn’t know the fate of their friends. They didn’t know if they’d ever return to the safe house system run by the Order. Hell, they didn’t even know if the Order was still a thing. They didn’t know if any of the safe houses remained. 

She was getting restless. She felt like she needed to do something, but all they were doing was sitting around. It felt like she should be searching the country for their friends, but they weren’t.

_ They were hiding. _

More and more, she thought about her conversation with Bellamy the previous night. She thought about how she admitted her deepest fears and regrets to him on the first night they were camping.

_ “I pretended like I didn’t know the truth and like I wasn’t disgusted by their beliefs. I pretended to not know what was going on and I stayed silent, just so I didn’t become a target myself. It was weak,”  _ she said. _ “I could’ve stood up for people, I could’ve spoke out. Staying silent is being compliant. It’s my biggest regret. I was silent to protect myself, but how many more people could I have saved if I took more risks?”  _

_ “We can only change the future,” he told her. “The past is already written. The future can be shaped and changed. We make mistakes. We regret our actions and inactions. We make amends. We don’t repeat those same mistakes.” _

The more she thought on his words, the more disgusted she felt. She regretted the first time that she hid and stayed safe for herself. She never wanted to do that again. She didn’t want to repeat those same mistakes, just like Bellamy said.

_ Except she was.  _

Right now. 

She was hiding and running away, just like she did for most of her life. She was ignoring what was going on in the world, just so she could stay safe.

Once again, she was putting her own safety above the war.

_ So much for not repeating those same mistakes. _

The longer she sat, the more determined she became to change. She wanted to do something. She didn’t want to sit idly by anymore. She did that for her whole life, and it was something she regretted.

She thought of a different world, one where she wasn’t hiding. As the days passed, these thoughts turned to fragmented plans. She wanted to return to the world. She wanted to stop repeating her regrets.

Clarke didn’t bring up what she was thinking to Bellamy. For now, they were safe, and she’d never ask him to jeopardize that. She’d let him know what she was thinking when she had a solid plan of action.

Until then, she would remain silent.

.

Clarke was starting to get frustrated. A week after they began camping, Clarke was at her wits end. She’d been practicing wandless magic  _ for fucking hours  _ and she hadn’t made a single ounce of progress.

She let out a yell of frustration when the damn branch didn’t move. Before she could think about her actions, she was kicking the branch repeatedly.

“Fuck!” She landed a solid kick against the branch, which sent a jolt of pain up her toe. She grabbed debris from the ground, mostly leaves and small twigs, and chucked it forward. “Fuck!”

Clarke whipped handful after handful of debris. She was panting and sweating heavily by the time she’d fallen to her knees, all of her energy sucked from her. She planted both of her palms on the damp ground and let out a broken half-sob.

She was so frustrated. No matter how often she told herself that this was to be expected, she couldn’t take it. She was just sitting her, not doing anything, while people were dying.

Everything was piling up. 

“You really showed that tree.” Bellamy was crouched outside the flaps of the tent, his wand balancing on his finger. She glanced back at him, still panting too hard to speak. “You okay?”

She let out a breathless laugh and let her head droop.

“No.”

He nodded, but didn’t retreat back to the tent like she expected him too. He didn’t make a move towards her either, nor did he offer her any words.

She glanced at him suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Me? Oh. Nothing.” He straightened up, stretching his back as he stood. “I’m curious about you, though. You were screaming pretty loud.”

There was something about Bellamy’s lofty attitude that made her smile.

“Just...“ She waved her hand vaguely. “All of this. I’m tired of it.” He didn’t speak again, so she looked at him. Her eyes locked onto the wood in his hands. 

He must’ve seen her staring at it. “I thought something was wrong,” he admitted. She could tell he was fighting to keep his voice nonchalant. “Glad to know it was just the leaves.”

She grimaced. “Sorry.” She leaned back on her haunches and pressed her wrists to her eyes. “I feel like I’m getting nowhere. I’ve been working on these nonverbal spells for ages, but nothing’s happening. It’s making me doubt I actually have magic.”

Bellamy stowed his wand and made his way over to where Kane’s book laid face up. After taking a moment to study the text, they made eye contact again.

“We can do it together then. Maybe it won’t feel so overwhelming with two people.” She didn’t say anything for a long moment, and he used the opportunity. “Besides, that tree looks like it needs some protection from you.”

Clarke smiled at that. “You’re something else, Bellamy.”

He was right. Two of them working on it together was better than her suffering through it alone.

* * *

_ November 25, 1997 _

* * *

She couldn’t take it anymore. 

She was bored beyond belief. She enjoyed watching Bellamy balance his wand on his nose, and she enjoyed their conversations, but she felt restless. They were sitting in the middle of nowhere doing absolutely nothing.

All the while, their friends could be suffering somewhere. Even if they weren’t suffering (whatever their fate may be),  _ people  _ were. The war still raged, even if they weren’t caught in the middle of it.

“I have a plan.”

Clarke sat down heavily on the edge of her air mattress, facing Bellamy. He was lounging across his own bed, his eyes closed. As soon as she spoke, he cracked his eyelid open the slightest bit and watched her.

“A plan?” he echoed, still unmoving.

Clarke didn’t know how he could be so calm when she felt so filled with adrenaline. She’d been spending a lot of time thinking, and she only put the final pieces together for a plan moments ago.

“Yes, a plan,” she said quickly. 

“A plan for what?”

Her leg was bouncing now. “A plan to get back to the others.”

The silence that filled the tent was heavy. Bellamy remained laying in bed, completely frozen. The birds chirping happily outside were stark contrast to the heavy mood inside.

“What?” He pushed himself into a sitting position, rest being erased from his mind. He looked panicked and confused. “What do you mean?”

Clarke was excited that he seemed more interested now. She was eager to share her plans; she’d been trying to fit pieces of the puzzle together for  _ days.  _ The only reason she didn’t share her plan with him earlier was because she didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“We said that we are stuck here – on the run, all alone – because we don’t know anyone in the Order, right?”

“Right.”

“So, if we don’t know anyone in the Order, we can’t find the location of the next safe house. We can’t go back to the wizarding world if we aren’t going somewhere safe, so we’re completely cut off from information about the war.”

“Yeah.” He looked more confused now, like he wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

She leaned forward in anticipation. “Except, we  _ do  _ know someone in the Order.”

He blinked at her slowly. “What? No, we don’t.”

“We do.” Clarke couldn’t hide her grin anymore. “I was thinking about how frustrating it is that we’re both kept out of the loop of so much; how we didn’t know the state of the world when we were hiding at Kane’s, how we didn’t know who was apart of the Order, how you didn’t know a list of safe house locations outside of Kane’s and Kingsley’s. I mean, it’s smart and it makes sense, but the secrecy was the reason we can’t make it back.”

“Sure.”

“Then I was thinking about how I found my way to the Order safe houses. I was hiding out in Diagon Alley, trying to stay out of sight and safe. I accidentally bumped into McGonagall there. She was the reason I knew about the Order and about Kane in the first place.”

Bellamy’s expression was blank. “I’m not following.”

“Well, we both agreed we don’t know Order members, but  _ we do.  _ We know one for certain. Professor McGonagall. If we know one, we can contact her to get us into the safe house system again.”

Bellamy moved to the edge of his mattress, his knees bumping into hers. He looked bewildered. “But you bumped into her by accident while you were hiding out. Somehow, I don’t think she’s going to be coming to this part of England anytime soon, and like hell are we going to wait out at Diagon Alley for her.”

Clarke shook her head. “No. No, we don’t need to wait around to accidentally bump into her. We know where she is. She’s going to be at Hogwarts. We know exactly where she will be and when she’ll be there.” She was buzzing with excitement. “It’s perfect.”

He looked at her like she was growing a third eye. “Clarke… You can’t be serious?”

She faltered. “What?” 

She thought this was a good plan. Didn’t he want to get back into the Order safe house system? That would be the best chance of their survival, and that was the most likely place they’d find out information on their friends.

“We can’t just waltz into Hogwarts,” he said slowly. “I went into hiding in September, but Kane told all of us what was happening there. Snape is Headmaster now, and the Carrows are in charge. You know the Carrows, don’t you? They’re Death Eaters.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know every Death Eater, Blake.” Her voice was heated. She knew that wasn’t what he was implying, but it was easier to be mad at that than be upset her plan was falling through.

His face softened. “You know that isn’t what I meant,” he insisted. He reached for her and quickly squeezed her knee. “I just… It isn’t safe. Death Eaters are all over Hogwarts. You-Know-Who practically runs the school. We won’t even be able to get in undetected, and they’re not going to just let two outsiders into the school.”

Clarke thought of that, but Bellamy was on a roll now, and she couldn’t get a word in.

“Fuck, never mind that! You’re not just some  _ outsider _ , Clarke. Whoever’s at the school will recognize you; students, staff, Death Eaters – especially if your mother is as set on finding you as you think she is. They’ll recognize you instantly, even with black hair. Your face is…”

She tried to fight an amused grin. “My face is what, Bellamy?”

He didn’t look impressed by her prompting. “Your face is noticeable and unique. It’s  _ nice _ , okay? You’ll be recognized easily.”

“A compliment from the great Bellamy Blake. It must be my lucky day.” While her words were dry, her tone was teasing. Bellamy knew so and bumped their knees together. “But what if we had a different way in?”

The light banter disappeared. Bellamy frowned. “I guess we could use one of the secret passages in. I knew of a few from my time in school, but that means others know them too. They’ll most likely be guarded.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’ll work. I want it to work – I really do. I’d love to get back with the Order, to have somewhere safe to stay, to find out something about our friends, but… It’s too risky to find McGonagall.”

Clarke lifted her eyebrows. “You still haven’t heard all of my plan though.” 

Bellamy hesitated. “What’s the rest of your plan?”

“You’re right, I’m easily recognizable. But, what if I don’t go as me.”

He was back to looking confused. “What?”

“Come on, Blake, think back to a few months ago. You just wrote your N.E.W.T. examinations. I’m sure you can think of something I can do to disguise myself. Something outside of just transfiguring my hair colour.” As he thought, she continued talking. “I can slip into Hogwarts, right under their noses. They wouldn’t suspect a thing. Nobody would question me. I can make it all the way to McGonagall, prove my identity, get the information, get back to the safe house system.”

Reality must’ve dawned on Bellamy. The blood seemed to drain from his face and he looked like he was moments away from getting sick. 

“No. _Absolutely_ _fucking not_. No!”

Clarke’s expression hardened. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about.”

He got up from the edge of the mattress and began pacing. The tent wasn’t much larger than a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, and there was even less space with two mattresses in it. He covered the width of the tent with two long strides.

“You’re talking about Polyjuice Potion,” he said. He scowled at her. “No. This is madness.”

She stood up to match him. “It’s not madness, Bellamy. This is a plan, a  _ good  _ plan. It’ll work!”

He rounded on her. “First of all, we don’t have the ingredients.”

“I’d go shopping.”

“No money.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

He crossed his arms. “It’s a difficult potion to brew. N.E.W.T. level, too, so you wouldn’t know how.”

Clarke matched his stance. “I know how, thank you very much. Need I remind you that my Head of House was the Potions Master? Besides, I was  _ studying  _ for my N.E.W.T. exams at Kane’s. I must’ve read the instructions for Polyjuice Potion a dozen times, probably more.”

“Then you’d know it takes over a month to brew.”

“Which is why I’d be going shopping as soon as possible. I know it’s a long potion to make.” 

Bellamy froze.

He spun to her, his eyes narrowed.

“You keep using  _ I _ ,” he pointed out. “Why?”

She jutted her chin out. “This is a plan that only requires me to go. Not you. You don’t have to worry about it. I was just telling you out of courtesy.”

His jaw slackened. “Griffin,” he said, his voice low. “Tell me you didn’t just say that? Tell me that you don’t think I would follow you  _ anywhere?  _ That I wouldn’t be coming on this trip of yours?”

She faltered. “I… What?”

He reached for her shoulders. “Of course I’m going to worry about it! Not only will I be coming with you, but I’d be worried out of my mind because you’re doing this!”

She swallowed thickly. Her eyes flicked down to his lips for a brief moment. “Oh.”

“Merlin, Clarke.” He pulled her in for a hug that shocked her further into silence. “I care about you. Even if this plan wasn’t something for the both of us, I’d be going with you.” When he pulled back from the hug, his hand lingered in the small of her back. “We’re a team and we’re in this together.”

_ Together, together, together. _

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said. “We just escaped death once, I didn’t want you to feel pressured to go along with my stupid plan.

“I’m a Gryffindor, Clarke. Stupid plans make up 90% of my life.” He pulled away from her completely and continued pacing, like nothing ever happened. “So, tell me more about your plan. We walk into Diagon Alley, buy ingredients for Polyjuice Potion. And then we sneak into Hogwarts as… Students?”

Clarke bit her lip and lost a bit of her nerve. This was the part of the plan that she was most hesitant about, but it was the only option.

“I’d be going as my mother.”

Bellamy froze once again. His shoulders tensed and his knuckles tightened. He was silent for a long moment. “No. That’s too dangerous.” 

“I know.” Clarke let out a heavy sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress again. The fight drained right out of her with Bellamy’s words. “It’s just… It’s the best option. I’m sure I have something around here with her hair on it, and that’s needed for the potion. I grew up around her, so I know how she behaves, right down to how she walks. I know her mask and her robes well, so I’d be able to replicate both of those things easily. And, well, you were right earlier – I do know a lot of Death Eaters, especially ones higher up, so nobody would give us trouble.”

Bellamy’s fight drained out of him too. He sat down beside her, his head falling to rest against his hands. “Clarke, you’re terrified of her. You admitted it to me the other day; her dressed as a Death Eater is your Boggart.”

She locked her jaw. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.” He locked eyes with her. “Why do you want to do this? I don’t understand.” 

Clarke broke the eye contact, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It was a while before she answered his question. “We’re sitting here and there’s a war happening out there. Do you remember what I told you the other day? How one of my biggest regrets was not doing more to help people? That I regretted looking out for myself first, not taking bigger risks to help people?”

“Of course I remember.”

“I feel useless out here.” She turned to him. “I know we aren’t doing any less here than we were doing at Kane’s, and even then, this is more than what I did when I was on the run alone, or when I sat at Griffin Manor, ignoring the war around me. But, after talking to you, I want to do more. I want to make up for past mistakes, for past inactions, and I can. I know I can. I have knowledge – insider knowledge that people might need.”

“People?”

“Like the Order,” she clarified. “It isn’t like I’m expecting to go back there and become some hero. I don’t want that. But I know I could be doing more back there. I could be training, or I could be giving information, or…  _ something.  _ Anything.” Her shoulders fell forward. “And what I said earlier is true. I want to go back into the Order safe house system because that’s the best chance of us finding out information on our friends. I know you think of them too.”

“I do. All the time.” He was silent, and then– “With this plan of yours, we’d  _ both  _ be going into Hogwarts?”

She lifted her head and looked at him. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not like want to go back to Hogwarts,” he corrected. “But… I  _ want  _ to be with you — to fight alongside you.”

She felt a flicker of hope in her chest, and— just maybe— a flicker of something else, too.

.

It was decided. They would go to Diagon Alley on Saturday, which was in four days. The sooner they could go, the better.

The plan was fairly simple, but that was only because so many things could go wrong, they both felt as if it would be impossible to prepare the details in advance.

They’d shop at Diagon Alley for the necessary ingredients. With the combined skills of the two of them, they’d be able to brew the potion, which took just over a month to brew. If all went according to plan, the potion would be ready on December 29, which meant Hogwarts would be almost empty of students for Christmas break. They’d go in disguised as Clarke’s mother and another Death Eater, get the information from McGonagall, and return to the Order safe house program.

It would work. It had to. They needed to get back to the safe house so they could know about their friends. Clarke also couldn’t shake the need to be doing something, or working towards something, and she knew the only place she could find and fulfill that purpose was with the Order.

With plans in place, Clarke went to sleep that night, feeling lighter than she had in days.

.

She woke up screaming.

Clarke was disoriented as she woke, still trapped in a limbo between her nightmare and reality. She couldn’t tell what was real and what was a fragment of her imagination.

She screamed and shook in her bed, desperate to shake the blankets off of her body. She trashed, needing to escape the grasps of the cold hands that grabbed her. She could still feel the warm blood running down her face, wetting her pillow under her head.

She was sobbing, sobbing so loud that her throat was raw. It felt like she was ripping in two from her grief, from the pain. She could barely suck in a breath between her sobs and screams and–

Two warm hands were on her biceps now, and she screamed. Clarke kicked the person who tried to grab her and scrambled away. 

She forgot where she was, who she was with.

She tumbled from the mattress and fell onto the floor of the tent. Her wand rolled out of her grasp – wait, did she ever have it in her grasp? It didn’t matter, it was gone now. It was gone, and she was covered in blood, and–

“It’s me! It’s me!” She flinched as a bright blue light illuminated the tent. His voice was enough to make her pause though, just for a moment, and–

Her eyes focused on him.

“Bellamy?”

_ She was with Bellamy Blake. _

She was on the run.

She was in a Muggle forest.

He was standing across the tent from her, his wand clutched in his hand. The tip was glowing harshly at first, but it quickly melted away to a softer light – one where she didn’t have to flinch away from. His hands were lifted up and his palms faced her, showing her that he wasn’t a threat.

Her hand came up to touch her face, to wipe the blood from it and–

She was shaking.  _ Why was she shaking? _

Clarke pulled her fingers away from her cheek and she stared at the clear liquid in confusion. The blood… The blood had been all over her. She murdered that person. They died. They bled. She–

_ It was a nightmare. _

Her thoughts were fragmented and frazzled, but things were starting to become clearer. All of that was a nightmare; the running, the terror, the murders. The blood on her face wasn’t blood, it was tears. The hands that gripped her earlier weren’t of her enemies – it was Bellamy.

She let out a shuddering gasp. Her whole body moved with it.

Then, she burst into tears.

Bellamy was at her side in an instant, the light from the end of his wand being extinguished when he dropped it. The moonlight cast them in a silver glow. He hesitated by her side, clearly apprehensive from her reaction earlier, but she fell to him, desperately reaching for him.

He complied.

She melted into his embrace. His arms were secure around her shoulders. She never knew that an embrace could provide so much safety, so much comfort. Clarke sobbed into his chest – she sobbed so loudly that she couldn’t hear the pounding of her blood through her ears.

“It’s okay,” he told her. She could feel his breath against her neck and his lips against her ear as he mumbled words of comfort to her. 

Her knuckles were white from grasping his shirt so tightly in his fists. She shook with the force of her sobs. His hands ran up and down her back comfortingly. She was faintly aware of him rocking both of them back and forth on the ground. And, when she shuddered again, he pulled the blanket from her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, caccooning her from the rest of the world.

“You’re okay. You’re here. I’m here.” She felt his chin rest against the top of her head. “It was just a nightmare.”

Except, it wasn’t.

When she spoke, her voice was so cracked and hoarse that she barely recognized it.

“I’m a bad person,” she admitted. Speaking those words out loud made her sob harder.  _ They were the truth.  _ She’d been lying to herself – she’d been lying to everyone. “I’ve done things, so many things. I–” She sobbed and clung to him tighter. She hoped he wouldn’t push her away when she told him the truth. She couldn’t lose him – not her only friend left in the world, not the one thing holding her together at the moment. “I’ve done terrible things. I’m not a good person. I’m not like you.”

“Clarke,” he said, his voice gentle. “Clarke, it was a nightmare.”

She pulled her head away from his chest to look him in the eye. She knew her expression must’ve been wild. “No. No, it wasn’t. It was, but it wasn’t.” She was aware she wasn’t making sense, but she couldn’t begin to explain it in so few words. “I’ve killed people before, Bellamy, I’ve– I’ve– Fuck.”

_ She dreamed of the eyes of those that died. She dreamed of their hands, of their voices. _

She dreamed of being the one that stood over them. She dreamed she was the one pointing a wand in their direction, that she’d been the one to utter the killing curse.  _ That she was the one behind the mask, not her mother. _

She hadn’t cast the killing curse before. She never directly killed anyone before.

_ Directly.  _ Did that even matter? Did it matter if she was the one who cast the spell or if she stood by and watched? She was a bystander – she played a part in those deaths.

“To survive, I had to do things. Do you know how many people I’ve heard screaming? How many dead bodies I’ve seen – dead bodies in my own home, in the homes of my friends?” Her expression crumpled. “How many people died because of me? How many could I have saved. Those people are dead because of me. I killed them. I killed them–”

She dreamed of their blood raining down on her, drowning her. She dreamed of the people that died because of her inaction. 

Reality and her nightmare blended into one. Did it matter which one she cast the killing curse in and the other she only watched? Did it matter?

She felt equally guilty.

“I’m not the good guy.” Her voice broke. She couldn’t stay strong anymore. A fresh wave of tears hit her. “I’m not the good guy, and I’m pretending, and–”

“Maybe there are no good guys,” Bellamy cut her off suddenly. “If  _ you,  _ Clarke Griffin, aren’t the good guy in this war, then I don’t know who is.” She was stunned into silence. “I know you, Clarke. I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone. You didn’t kill those people.”

“But–”

“You’re the good guy, Clarke. Even if you don’t see it,  _ I do.”  _ He brushed the tears off of her face with his thumbs. His movements were so gentle that it made her heart ache for completely different reasons than before. “We’re all fucked up. There’s no such thing as good guys, because everyone is the hero of their own story. That’s all just a fucking concept – a fucking  _ stupid  _ concept.”

She was shaking her head. “No. N–”

“You’re trying. You’re here, and you’re trying, and you  _ want  _ to do better.” His hands were on her back, holding her close. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. “The future. Remember? The future is where we make changes. I’ve done things in the past too – things I regret. I’ve stood by while people were murdered.  _ I’ve murdered people, too, Clarke.  _ We can't change that though – all we can do is change the future.”

She rested her head against his chest. She heard the steady thump of his heart, she felt the rhythm of his breaths. With his arms wrapped around her, she felt safe and whole.

_ She felt like she was home. _

He continued to utter words of comfort to her. She was exhausted, the fight having bled out of her as soon as she was pressed against his chest. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open.

Bellamy threaded his fingers through her hair. “Go to sleep,” he told her.

“No.” She was tempted to pull away from him and wake herself up, but she couldn’t bring herself to it. “We don’t have a dreamless sleep potion. If I go to sleep, then…”

_ Then I’ll dream of them. I’ll dream of blood and death. _

She didn’t need to speak. He already knew. 

He rested his cheek against the crown of her head. “I’ll stay up,” he promised her. “I’ll wake you if you start dreaming. Sleep.”

She wanted to protest, she really did. But when he ran his hands through her hair again, her eyes felt impossibly heavy.

Despite trying to fight exhaustion, it came for her. That night, she fell asleep in Bellamy’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I’m behind on responding to comments because I haven’t been on desktop recently, but I’ve read and appreciated each one. Thank you so much!!
> 
> The next chapter isn’t pre-written, so it’ll probably take a little while until it’s uploaded. Thanks for understanding!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> Paw


	16. Chapter 15: Day Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE:  
> I recently updated the tags and rating for this fic! Most notably, the rating changed from T to M (and will most likely change to E soon)! This change was something I wasn’t originally planning, but it made sense for the level of blood and violence within the next few chapters. (Also, sexual content in the future chapters.) Please keep these changes in mind as we move forward. If you have any questions, let me know!!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ November 27, 1997 _

* * *

The next several days were filled with studying. Clarke poured over the advanced charms textbook from Kane, from cover to cover. Even though most of the magic was above her, she constantly found herself impressed by the applications of magic.

“You have that look on your face,” Bellamy said, breaking her concentration. She had been sitting outside of their tent with a blanket wrapped around her legs as she read. He sank down beside her and pulled her blanket over his legs.

“What look?” she said, her lips barely moving. Bellamy leaned against the tree and stretched his arms over his head.

“The look of astonishment.” He pointed to her book. “Enlighten me.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you’re excited about.” He gave her a look. “Come on, Clarke. I know you want to. You nerd.”

She swatted his arm playfully. In return, he bumped his foot against hers. 

Clarke didn’t know how he knew what she was thinking in that moment, but he was right. She was amazed and impressed by magic.

“Look at this spell,” she said, shifting the textbook onto both of their laps. He leaned into her side to get a better look. “This ward is extremely complicated, but it’s amazing.  _ Cave inimicum _ . Have you heard of it before?”

Bellamy’s eyes scanned the text. “No, I haven’t. This would be a good charm to learn though,” he determined.

She agreed. The charm was protective, and it was one of the most unique and useful charms she had come across so far. It could hide anything in plain sight. If anyone outside of the boundary came close to the area the spell was cast around, they wouldn’t be able to see, hear, or smell them. It would especially become useful when they were going to be brewing Polyjuice Potion, as the brewing process had a strong aroma.

“I’ll learn it,” she told him. “There’s a whole section on wards here. It would be good to learn a bunch of them, just in case we decide to stay anywhere near a wizarding town.” She flipped through the book until she found what she was looking for again. “And advances summoning spells? That’s incredible magic.”

Bellamy took a long moment to read the page. “This is outlining how to summon an object from a removed location.”

“It’s incredible and takes a lot of practice.” The incantation and wand movements were the same as a common summoning spell, but the instructions explained how it could be applied to summon objects directly to their side, regardless of the distance. “If we’re familiar with an object, we can summon it from half-way across the world with this.”

“I think my mom used to do that,” he said, his voice low. He looked pensive. “She used to summon her favourite cloak from home if the weather turned while we were shopping.”

“Yeah, it does say the person who performs the charm must be familiar with the object, or it won’t work.” She let her mind wander with possibilities and applications of what was a simple spell.

Bellamy flipped through the pages on his half of the book. He stopped when a picture caught his eye and smirked.

She knew that look. This was his playful expression, and it usually ended with both of them laughing until their cheeks hurt.

“What?” she asked slowly, a smile already forming.

He opened the page he stopped on, already laughing. He pointed to the picture of a wizard partially transformed into a shark and swimming underwater. 

“Look!” He locked eyes with her. His smile was infectious. 

“That isn’t very funny,” she pointed out. 

The wizard was performing a partial transfiguration, which was an impressive feat, but she couldn’t understand why he was barely able to speak from his laughter.

“You see?” He pointed at the picture again. She nodded — the Wizard was underwater, partially transfigured into a shark. “Okay, now imagine this exact same spell, but transforming into the giant squid in the Black Lake instead. Merlin, that’d be terrifying!”

The image that came to mind  _ was _ pretty funny, she had to admit. It only took a few more words from Bellamy for both of them to lean against each other, unable to keep themselves upright from the laughter.

* * *

_ November 29, 1997 _

* * *

On Saturday, Clarke woke up as early as Bellamy did. It was a strange morning, as she woke suddenly and highly alert. 

_ Today was the day.  _ In an hour, they’d be making their way to Diagon Alley for a shopping trip. It was dangerous and terrifying, but thrilling at the same time.

When she glanced around the tent to make sure everything was okay, her eyes landed on Bellamy.

He was laying wide awake on his mattress, his gaze glued to the top of the tent. When he saw her staring at him, he turned to her.

For a moment, they were both silent. Her eyes swept over his face, and she marvelled at just how good he looked. He reminded her of the gods of old, or heroes from stories. His hair was messy, with his curls going every direction and hanging into his eyes.

He was breathtaking, and stunning, and ethereal. Clarke wanted to reach out and comb her fingers through his locks, and to run her finger down the slope of his jaw, and to kiss his parted lips.

His eyes scanned her face too, and she wondered what he was thinking about. Was he thinking about how he wanted to kiss her lips, too? Or was he thinking about the dangers ahead of them?

She didn’t want to shatter the peace that surrounded them, but they needed to get up soon and start preparing for their day.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice hoarse with sleep.

Bellamy stretched his hand towards her, his knuckles brushing against a strand of her blonde hair. He planned to transfigure it back to black before they left on their shopping trip.

“Good morning,” he echoed. “How was your sleep?”

“Good, surprisingly.” She expected to be kept up all night by her worries, but she was pleasantly surprised that wasn’t the case. “You?”

“Relatively good.” His eyes scanned her face. “No nightmares?”

This had become a common question since she woke up screaming. A warm feeling flooded her chest. She’d never felt so cared for and loved. The force of her feelings was unsettling, yet so beautiful.

“No nightmares,” she told him. 

Clarke looked at the ceiling of their tent and let serenity wash over her. The fabric was golden from the rising sun. Birds sang happily, just outside of their tent. In the distance, she could hear the rush of the stream they collected water at.

“You ready for the day?” Clarke asked. She didn’t want to get up, but they had work to do. 

Bellamy must’ve been thinking the same thing. He pulled his pillow over his eyes. “Let’s just ignore the world for five more minutes.”

She couldn’t find the strength to fight that. “Five more minutes.”

.

Clarke performed the final twist of her hair tie, securing her braid in place. Her hair had been transfigured only moments before, and she’d been desperate to get it off of her neck.

She told Bellamy that she wore it up because of the heat, but it was a white lie. She wanted it away from her face because she was expecting a fight, and she needed to be prepared.

They’d be going on two excursions through the day, so they wouldn’t alert anyone of their intentions of using what they were purchasing to make Polyjuice Potion.

This first trip would be to pick up what they’d need to make the potion with; a cauldron, a mortar and pestle, several types of stirring rods and measuring spoons. They’d also make a quick stop at the apothecary to pick up the first half of the ingredients.

The second trip would happen later in the afternoon, where they’d go to buy the remaining ingredients.

It was a good plan. Clarke’s hair was dyed black and out of her face. While she wore Muggle clothing under her robe, she planned to tie it shut to hide that. It never had been safe to be a Muggle in Diagon Alley, not even when she was a kid, but that was more true now that they were being hunted and killed. 

Bellamy duplicated and transfigured her cloak to fit him, and he looked good. While the cloak didn’t fit him perfectly, even with adjustments made for his size, it looked almost custom made to the untrained eye. His hair was slicked back and nearly straight, which she teased him mercilessly about.

She ran her finger along the edge of a loosening curl. As soon as she touched it, it bounced free of the spell, and sprung back a wave. 

Bellamy glowered at her while she grinned.

“You look like a different person with your hair straight,” she pointed out. He continued to try and flatten his hair. She pouted at the back of his head. “I miss your curls.”

She tried to ignore the way her palms grew clammy.

“Never thought I’d hear that,” he said. He turned to face her, the corners of his lips turning into a smirk. “Just admit it, Griffin. You love me.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She tried to hide it well.

“I love your  _ hair _ ,” she corrected. Her voice was unsteady, but he didn’t give an indication that he noticed. 

“Yeah, well… Lets just say I’m not too fond of this either.” 

When he turned to face her, the air grew heavy between them. The tension was so thick that it could’ve suffocated her.

Her eyes swept over his face, willing herself to memorize every detail of it. The fear of never having this opportunity again weighed heavily on her.

She was terrified of losing him.

There was this unspoken fear between the two of them. They knew the plan of sneaking into Hogwarts was risky, of course, but even this first step came with high risk. They’d be going back to the wizarding world, a place where they were both being hunted. They’d be walking around Diagon Alley, a place filled with wizards and witches. 

What if one of them recognized them? 

What if someone alerted the Death Eaters? They’d be cornered. They’d have to fight for their survival. She doubted they’d be able to escape if that happened.

If someone recognized her, it was game over.

A chill came over her with that thought. If someone recognized her, her mother would find her again, and she’d lose more than just her freedom.

Her fingers twitched towards Bellamy, her heart racing.  _ She’d lose things more precious than just her freedom. _

This was dangerous. They were both putting their lives on the line, and they both knew what was at risk.

_ If things went south, they could die. _

The urge to press her lips against his overwhelmed her. Their futures weren’t guaranteed and she wanted to know how kissing him felt before they died, before they risked everything on her stupid plan.

She didn’t want to lose him before she knew what it was like to kiss him.

She could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to her lips, too, but she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She was imagining things out of her own wants.

Clarke swallowed thickly and tried to pull her mind away from how close they were standing together, away from imagining how he’d taste on her lips. 

He made it impossible to not think of him. Bellamy reached for her shoulders. His gaze never left hers. 

“Be safe.”

Suddenly overwhelmed with the fear of losing him, Clarke moved forward and closed the gap between them. His arms snaked around her body and she buried her nose against his shoulder.

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him how much he meant to her, and how thankful she was that he was the one beside her. She wanted to tell him that she was wrong about him before — that he was a good man — and she’d happily stand beside him for the rest of her life.

“Bellamy—“ she choked out. The words got stuck in her throat. 

_ “Bellamy, I care about you.” _

_ “Bellamy, I’m glad it is you.” _

_ “Bellamy, I want to spend years with you.” _

She didn’t say any of that though. Instead, she bit down on her lip and forced words through her mouth. “I'll be safe,” she promised him. “You, too, okay? Don’t be reckless out there. Stick to the plan.”

“I will.”

She pulled out of his grasp just enough to be able to see him. Her eyes flitted across his face, taking in every slope and curve. Her heart was aching in her chest.

_ Why did this feel like a goodbye? _

“Alright,” she said, stepping out of his grasp. She put distance between the two of them, determined to refocus her mind on the task at hand. 

This wasn’t goodbye. They’d both be fine. The plan would work. They’d both be sitting in the tent together tonight, but very well alive and okay.

_ They’d both be okay. _

“Alright,” he repeated. He stuffed his hand into his wand pocket and pulled out his wand. “Ready?”

She held out her hand for him to take it. “Ready.”

With that, she disapparated them into Diagon Alley.

.

The street materialized around them. The gravel road under her feet was familiar, as was the chilly air and hauntingly empty streets. They appeared in a darkened alley with only a few broken barrels, away from any prying eyes. 

Clarke blinked a few times to adjust to the different lighting. She managed to suppress a shiver from the sudden change in temperature. Another chill went through her with the memories that she was hit with.

_ This was where she hid before _ . When she was on the run, she often came back to Diagon Alley, hiding in one of the dozen abandoned shops. Being back made her throat tighten.

She was so different from the last time she was here. 

_ Everything was so different. _

Bellamy took a step away from her, putting some distance between them. All she wanted to do was reach out and take his hand, to seek comfort with him. She knew she couldn’t though — she needed to stay sharp and alert, and she knew she’d lose her edge if she reached for Bellamy.

“Let’s go,” she said, keeping her voice lofty. Her fingers tightened on the wood of her wand and her eyes scanned the nearly abandoned alley around them.

Constant vigilance. That was something she hounded to herself. She had to stay alert, she had to stay aware, and she had to stay prepared.

Bellamy’s own hand tightened on his wand, too. She read him well and she could see he was tense and nervous. His eyes darted around, his muscles were coiled to spring, his breathing was shallow.

She lead the two of them out of the dark alley and down the nearly abandoned street. Most of the shops were boarded up, having permanently closed months ago. Windows were smashed in, signs overhanging doors were charred black. Some abandoned merchandise spilled onto the streets.

Her eyes swept along the familiar curves of the road. Some of the shops from her childhood had closed and been replaced by darker and more foreboding stores. Skeletons hung in one window, and she could’ve sworn the eyes swivelled around in its head to follow them.

Clarke followed the plan. They both stuck to the shadows and slunk down, trying to look like two wandering souls, not two teenagers on a mission. 

It was harder than she thought it was going to be.

She wanted to stand tall and lift her chin, showing nothing would break her confidence. She wanted to glare in the directions of the few patrons walking the paths. It was ingrained in her from a young age to  _ look  _ tall and confident, even if that wasn’t the truth.

Finally, her eyes caught sight of a handful of shops open for business. At the very far end of the street, Weasley Wizards Wheezes stood tall, a giant statue of one of the Weasley twins waving a hat. 

On the opposite side of the street, she saw their first destination; the pawn shop. They needed money for the ingredients, and this was the easiest and safest way to get it.

After bargaining for several minutes, they left the store with pockets filled with wizarding currency. She tucked her Slytherin locket in with the coins, having traded the chain it usually hung on for the money.

A few stores over, she saw what they came for. Potage's Cauldron Shop looked as worn down as ever, with the door tilting off its hinges and the windows cracked.

She snuck a glance at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. His face was unreadable, but he gave a sharp nod. He felt as if it would be safe to enter and she agreed.

They collected the supplies without any hassle. The shop owner was a short man with wiry facial hair and he never questioned them once. She assumed that the way he stayed in business for so long was by not asking too many questions.

After they left the shop, they shrunk the potion making supplies so it could be kept in their pocket, leaving both of their hands free to fight. 

Clarke felt eyes on her and her gaze shot up, her heart already racing. 

Her eyes locked with his brown ones.

Bellamy smiled at her, a small and unsure half-smile she hadn’t seen before. She lifted her eyebrows playfully.

He had been staring at her.

They continued their journey to the apothecary, a relatively short walk.

_ That was when their good luck stopped. _

She could see the broken window and burnt sign before they crossed the street. As soon as she saw how dark and empty it looked, her heart fell to her stomach.

“No,” she groaned. “Shit.”

Bellamy went rigid beside her and scanned all around them, obviously thinking someone around them posed a threat.

“Bellamy,” she said quickly. Her arm darted out to steady him beside her. She gestured across the street. “Look.”

It only took a moment for him to notice the problem. “Shit. It’s closed.”

If she was being honest, it looked like nobody had ever lived there before. Through the broken windows, she saw bare shelves and empty countertops.

“What happened?”

It didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact they  _ needed  _ supplies from this shop. Without the apothecary, they wouldn’t be able to get any of the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion.

No store, no ingredients, no potion, no Hogwarts, no returning to the Order.

Clarke was determined not to let that happen. She couldn’t allow this plan to fall through.

She didn’t like the solution she came up with, and she knew Bellamy would like it even less. 

They didn’t have another choice though.

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice stiffening. “We’ll just go to Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary instead. I’m sure he remained open.”

Beside her, Bellamy froze. She tried to remain nonchalaunt in case someone was watching, but dread was raging inside of her.

“Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary?” he questioned. Isn’t that in Knockturn Alley?” She could sense him fighting to keep a hold on his emotions. 

“Yes.” She tightened her cloak and glanced around them. She caught the eye of an older woman with a hooked nose and smiled tightly. She just hoped whoever else they encountered was going to be as harmless as her.

“I don’t know…”

She was already walking towards the passage to the opposite alley. 

“We don’t have another option.” He agreed grudgingly and followed after her. 

Her heart was hammering in her chest. While Diagon Alley was used by all witches and wizards, Knockturn Alley was known for being heavily involved with the Dark Arts. The shops sold dark items, illegal activity was rampant, and the patrons mainly had ties to dark organizations.

It was risky. Death Eaters would be hanging around Knockturn Alley — the exact people they needed to avoid. 

Just as she expected, the alley was bustling with activity — a stark contrast to the empty streets they came from. Vendors had even begun to pop up alongside the middle path down the alley, selling things that they clearly didn’t have a license to sell.

The permanent shops were busy. People passing on the street talked in hushed tones, their lips curling up in sneers. Clarke saw several Dark Marks on the inner left arm within the first ten seconds of stepping into the alley.

They’d have to play a different part here. While it was common for people on the run to be hiding out in Diagon Alley, that wasn’t the case here. Nobody came her to wander aimlessly — they came here with a specific purpose in mind.

“Follow my lead,” she whispered quickly. 

Clarke settled into the persona she was instructed to construct by her mother. She straightened up and pulled her cloak tighter around her body. She hoped she looked intimidating as she tried to channel her mother. Hard, cold, above everyone else.

She strode forward, her steps much more confident than she truly felt in that moment. Bellamy followed beside her, and she noticed his own posture had improved considerably.

She didn’t openly glance at him, nor did she glance at anyone else on the street. If she acted like she was above them all, they wouldn’t try and approach her, and they could slip by.

For once, her plan went smoothly. They made it to the apothecary in Knockturn Alley without anyone taking a second look at them, and Clarke found herself thanking the founders of magic. 

“Stay close,” Clarke mumbled her instructions over her shoulder, still not allowing her gaze to settle on Bellamy. 

Clarke has been in this shop a handful of times before, mostly times with her mother. She also came here while shopping for her sixth year, as the apothecaries in Diagon Alley sold out of many ingredients before she could buy it.

The shop owner was the same from when she was a kid. She recognized him from his slicked back black hair and scarred lip.

Bellamy has a scarred lip, too. As they browsed the shelves, she snuck a glance at him for a moment, her eyes focusing on his lips for a brief moment. 

She busied herself by pulling one of their ingredients from the shelf. Knotgrass. 

After Bellamy grabbed two more ingredients, they made their way to the counter. The worker with the scar was wearing an apron covered in slime. A cauldron bubbled at the back and, every time a bubble burst, black tar would splatter.

Maybe it was in her head, but she could’ve sworn the man was staring at her as he weighed the ingredients. She kept her gaze locked on the cauldron, but she could  _ feel  _ him.

What would her mother do? That was who she was attempting to channel on this trip, and so far it had been working pretty good. 

Her gaze snapped to his. “Can I help you with something?”

He wasn’t expecting that. He jumped, dropping the Knotgrass in his hand. She pretended to get annoyed with his actions and gave him a hard and disappointed look.

“I- I-“

Clarke felt bad for clearly scaring the worker. She couldn’t imagine how many threats and dangers he had to deal with every day.

He fumbled with the spilled strands of grass. After several seconds of him trying to gather the thin pieces from the floor, Bellamy sighed and walked back to the shelf to collect more.

The worker stood up. His eyes were wide as he watched Clarke. A prickling sensation was climbing her spine.

She tried to shove it down. 

“Do you have a problem with me?” She lifted her eyebrow and pursed her lips. She tried her best to look indifferent, yet intimidating. “I can see I’m quite a bother to you. I can always take my business elsewhere—“

“No! No!” The worker fumbled with the leeches they selected. His gaze darted from her eyes down to the insect and back. “I— It’s just—“

Her lip curled back. She looked at him down her nose. “Spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

“You remind me of someone. That’s all.” The worker began to transfer the leeches into a small leather sack, the task made difficult by his tremble.

Clarke felt like she was punched in the gut.  _ Reminded him of someone. _

Shit. He knew. If she recognized him from her childhood, what if he recognized her too?

“She gets that a lot,” Bellamy said, stepping up to her side. He placed the Knotgrass on the counter. His gaze was intense and unrelenting. “People say her eyes remind them of the ocean.”

“No… No, it isn’t that—“

“I’m sure it is,” Bellamy said, his tone growing more forceful. 

His arm snaked around her shoulders; while it looked like a relaxed and open moved, she saw the true intentions behind it. He was giving her access to his side pocket where he stored his wand. Neither of them could reach for their own wands without drawing suspicion or being shot at first.

Bellamy continued speaking, like nothing ever happened. “So, you disagree? You don’t think my wife’s eyes remind you of the ocean?”

“No! Merlin, no— They do! They’re as blue as the water that runs through this country.”

Bellamy leaned forward. She used the distraction he was causing to move her hand into his pocket. Her hand grasped the base of his wand, her heartbeat racing with anticipation.

“Although, it’s usually me who tells my wife her eyes are like the ocean. You might want to keep your comments to yourself.” Bellamy reached across the counter, gesturing to the bag of leeches. “I think we’re done here.”

“Of course. Of course.” The man collected the ingredients from behind the counter and passed it off to Bellamy.

Clarke let her hand fall away from his wand, her heart rate steadily decreasing. The man looked terrified and she doubted he’d try to pull anything. Even if he did know the truth, he looked too terrified to say anything.

She tossed a few coins onto the counter and glowered at him. He shrunk back. She hated how she scared people.

With the ingredients in hand and their lives still intact, they left.

.

“We are not going back there.”

Bellamy was pacing the tent once again, his whole body tensed with stress. 

“We have to.”

“Clarke…” He dragged his hands down his face, clearly exhausted and spent from their morning adventure. “This plan was dangerous enough, but with Knockturn Alley? It’s signing our death certificates. Do you know who I fucking walked past? Theodore fucking Knott Sr. That place was crawling with Death Eaters!”

“And yet here we are.” She lifted her eyebrows in challenge. “We walked through all those Death Eaters and we’re still alive! Nobody recognized me. We got the ingredients we needed. We’re still on track with the plan.”

“We almost got caught,” he insisted. “The worker in the apothecary. He knew you.”

“And then you tricked him. He’s not a threat anymore.” Clarke glanced away from him, no longer having the heart to watch him.

“Maybe I surprised him enough so he didn’t try and stop us this time, but what about when we come back later? What are we supposed to do then?”

She knew so many things could go wrong. Them successfully pulling off this plan was slim. 

But there was a chance. No matter how small the possibility of them pulling this plan off correctly was, there was still a chance.

She had to rely on that. 

“He didn’t recognize me. Besides, he’s terrified. He isn’t going to go running to the Death Eaters — he’s too scared of them. And, then what can he do? Kill us himself?”

“He might!” He sat down across from her again, trying to catch her gaze.“We need to adjust the plan. This is serious, Clarke. We don’t have margins for errors.” He finally caught her eye. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know.” Her lips were pressed tightly together. “I’m doing this. You don’t have to — I’m not asking you to, but—“

“Clarke.” She fell quiet. “I’m not saying I’m not doing this.  _ I am.  _ Of course, I am. Besides, do you really think I’d let you go back there alone?” She remained silent. “I’m just saying we have to rethink a few things. We’re doing this together.”

She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. “What do you propose then?”

.

“You’re a fraud!” 

Clarke’s hand smacked loudly against the counter, drawing the attention of a few lingering customers in the apothecary. The worker behind the counter was the same one from earlier, and he clearly remembered her. As soon as he turned around from his cauldron, his face twisted.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

Clarke shook the sack of leeches in the air. “You tried to sell me these  _ things _ ! You claimed they were slugs, when they are  _ clearly  _ leeches.”

As if to prove her point, she turned the sack over and emptied a couple of leeches onto the counter. 

As she tried her best to keep the worker’s attention occupied, Bellamy crept around the shelves, his eyes scanning for their few remaining ingredients. While she caused a distraction, he’d pocket their remaining ingredients, and they’d be on their way.

The ship owner looked exhausted. “Ma’am, you  _ ordered  _ leeches.” 

Clarke glared at him. “Did I, now? And I assume you remember every detail of every order for every customer that walks through that door?”

Something was different. He wasn’t flinching with her words. He wasn’t cowering away from her. 

Great. Of course, when she  _ wanted  _ this man to be terrified of her, he wasn’t.

She stood taller and put more anger into her glare. She reminded herself of her mother, and nothing made her want to shrink away more than that.

“No, but I remember your order specifically.” His smile was cold and distant. His eyes seemingly pierced into her soul. A chill was creeping up her spine. “You purchased a bundle of Knotgrass, shredded Boomslang skin, and a pouch of  _ leeches _ .”

Clarke felt apprehension creeping up in her. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up.

Something wasn’t right.

“You’re correct, except I clearly remember ordering slugs.” She straightened up so she could have easier access to her wand, but kept her expression sharp. “I should know. I’m the one making the potion, aren't I?”

The worker leaned forward, his lips curling into a sneer. “Tell me, darling, which potion  _ are  _ you making?” He cocked his head to the side. “Not Polyjuice Potion, is it?”

_ Fuck. _

Clarke smirked coldly and hoped panic wasn’t in her eyes. “Observant, aren't you?” Her mind was reeling. 

_ He knew. _

She’d have to make the best of it. Lying was more successful if the truth was merely  _ bent,  _ not changed.

“You’re right. I’m planning on making Polyjuice Potion. You never know when it’ll come in handy.” She tried to turn her expression more friendly, like they were two friends sharing a joke. “Sometimes, it’s in our best interest to not be who we truly are.”

The shop owner didn’t look any more or less impressed than he did only moments before. “Cut the funny business, dear. We both know those are leeches in that pouch, and we both know you didn’t pick up all the ingredients for your potion earlier.” She remained silent. “Yes, you’re still missing three ingredients, aren’t you? Fluxweed, bicorn hair, and Lacewing flies.” He gestured to a glass container behind the counter, filled with the caracses of flies.

Her heart dropped. Lacewing flies were kept behind the counter — of course! How could she be so stupid? Their plan of Bellamy stealing the remaining three ingredients would’ve never worked!

His eyes flicked towards the shelf she knew Bellamy was sneaking through. He merely lifted his eyebrows. 

Her hand closed around her wand instinctively.

“And I assume your  _ husband _ has nothing to do with my missing stock of Fluxweed and powdered bicorn hair?”

Her heart jumped into her throat.

“I do pride myself on giving the best service to the noblest of pureblood families, after all.” His nose wrinkled. “Although, Ms. Griffin, you aren’t as pure as we all thought, marrying that  _ filth— _ “

She hurdled over the counter, moving faster than she ever had in her life. She could see him moving for his wand.

“Bellamy!” She landed roughly on top of the owner, the breath getting knocked out of her chest. “He knows!”

She pointed her wand at the owner’s chest and wheezed the incantation for a stunner. The man went limp beneath her.

They needed to get out of there. If he recognized her, then that meant—

The front of the store exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally combined with the next chapter, but I split it because it was getting extremely long. That update shouldn’t take too long, since it’s already written and just needs edits.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	17. Chapter 16: Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this update took a while!! I was on a roll with pre-writing chapters, and I didn’t want to break motivation by coming back to edit what I already had written! (And this chapter was one I wanted to edit well.)
> 
> Regardless, it’s here now!!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are in the bottom notes (as they contain spoilers). Read them if you feel you need! 
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ November 27, 1997 _

* * *

When the front of the store exploded, things went to hell. The glass windows shattered. Canisters on shelves exploded. Shelves were blown sideways. 

Clarke was shielded from the brunt of the blast behind the counter, but still hand the wind knocked out of her. 

Her head spun. It felt like someone had reached down her throat and was trying to rip her lungs up. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak.

She was lying on the ground, a pathetic wheeze coming from her lips. She tasted blood.

_ Bellamy. _

She tried to call his name, but her lungs refused to work properly.

All she could think about was how  _ he  _ was at the front of the store when the explosion went off. Nobody could have managed to come out of that explosion unscathed. She needed to get to him, she needed to—

Spells of various shades of blue and green were raining down on her. They were hitting the back wall of the shop, sending wood sitters flying everywhere.

Clarke rolled onto her side, her teeth clenched to bear the pain of that simple action. Glass crunched under her shoes. She felt shards dig into her skin as she moved. 

They needed to go. They needed to escape.

A shelf along the right hand side of the shop let out a loan groan. Metal snapped. The dozens of glass containers housed on it slipped off as it tipped, shattering on the ground. The shop was quickly filling with fumes, most likely from a mix of the potion ingredients. 

She was struggling to force air into her lungs, and what she did breathe was potent and stung her throat. She inched forward, her body pressed flush to the ground, her heart hammering in fear.

“Bellamy!” She couldn’t hear him moving. She couldn’t hear much of anything over the chaos around her. A sharp jolt of pain flared up from her forearm. She felt blood run down her skin. “Bellamy!”

She coughed rapidly from the fumes filling the air. Her hands cupped around the back of her head, shielding herself from the raining glass above her.

She pushed around the corner of the counter, her face only inches from the ground. Black robed wizards were standing on the street, firing spells in. 

They were here for her. They knew who she was. The shop owner must’ve told them.

She ripped her gaze away from the enemy, searching desperately for Bellamy among the carriage. He wasn’t where she last saw him, and it made her heart skip a beat.

No. Please. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be— 

_ There! _

He was unconscious near the front of the shop, his wand loosely in his hand. His head lulled to the side, his mouth slightly agape. He looked peaceful, almost, despite the chaos around them.

She needed to get to him and get out. They were cornered and outnumbered. If they were caught, he’d be murdered and she’d be brought before her mother. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Panic like no other gripped her. If she wasn’t so desperate to get out, she would’ve been petrified with fear.

First — complete the mission.

Her hand darted out and grabbed a handful of the potion ingredient behind the counter and she roughly shoved it into her pocket. 

Second — get Bellamy.

Third — get out.

As she was debating on how to get to him, a glass container above the counter shattered. A green sludge splattered on her face and she let out a scream.

The liquid was cool to the touch and clung to her, making it impossible to breathe or see. She tried to wipe it off of her face, but only clumps of it stuck to her hand instead. 

_ She couldn’t see. _

Clarke blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sludge enough so she could defend themselves, but her vision was blurred and dark.

Through the blurriness, she could see the faint outline of the world around her. She could see where the counter ended, and she could see the light streaming in from the broken shop front.

She knew that wasn’t going to be enough to save them.

Panic was starting to engulf her, closing down her senses. She couldn’t see properly. Bellamy was on the other end of the shop. 

They were going to die.

Before she could clear any more potion from her face, a booming voice from outside called for a halt of spells. The air turned silent without the crackle of magic or shattering of glass. 

Clarke’s chest was heaving. Her fingers tightened on her wand as she desperately thought of a solution. Her eyes were shut tightly, trying to keep more of the potion from entering her eyes. 

“Griffin!” 

Her heart felt like it was going to rip her chest in two. She was feeling faint. The world felt distant.

_ They were caught. _

“Griffin, come out without your wand, and we’ll spare you and your blood traitor!”

She was biting her lip so hard that it drew blood. Her hands shook so hard that she was afraid she was going to drop her wand.

_ They knew about Bellamy.  _ They knew she was with him, they knew his blood status, they knew.

That thought terrified her more than anything else.

She wasn’t scared for herself. She wasn’t scared that this was the end of her run, that she’d be going back to her mother, that she’d be punished for what she did.

No, she was scared for him. She knew they’d never spare his life if they knew he was a half-blood that sided with Potter. He was lying at the front of the shop, dead for all she knew, and she couldn’t get to him.

_ He was going to die because of her. _

Her mind was swimming. She couldn’t save him. She couldn’t get to him without someone seeing her. She could barely see where she was walking, how was she going to fight? How was she going to—

“Wallace, move in. Aaron, bring me the blood-traitor.”

Clarke knew she had mere seconds before all her options were taken away. 

“Okay!” She acted before it was too late. She jumped up from the floor, her wand clattering to the floor. She needed to buy time. “Don’t come closer!”

She counted the silhouette of seven Death Eaters at the front of the shop, all standing on the street. 

_ Seven. _

Seven fucking Death Eaters.

She’d never be able to take all seven of them at once, not even if her vision wasn’t blurred. They had all the advantages; the numbers, the clear vision, the wands pointed at her chest.

Clarke knew they couldn’t get out of the shop by pure force. Her mind rapidly tried to think of another way out.

“Step around the counter, towards us. Slowly.”

Clarke complied and began to make her way towards the pack of Death Eaters. She was thankful that they knew who she was in that moment; she doubted that if her mother hadn’t given them orders not to harm her, she’d already be dead.

She couldn’t think of a way out of this. She was beginning to lose hope. Clarke was desperate though — desperate to make sure Bellamy got out safe. Maybe she could strike a deal with the Death Eaters, maybe they’d let him go if she went willingly, maybe…

No. If they saw how much she cared about him, they’d only hurt him more. They’d never agree to let him go, and why would they? They had all the power, all the advantages. She had nothing to barter with.

Clarke had to buy more time to come up with a plan. She needed to out-smart them.

_ Play the game.  _ She knew how this worked. She had to play along until an opportunity came.

“There! Stop there. Don’t move.”

Clarke froze where she stood, her hands still lifted in surrender. She kept her gaze locked on the cloudy silhouettes of the Death Eaters in front of her, but she desperately searched for Bellamy out of the corner of her eye.

She spotted him, closer now than before. He still looked limp from what she could tell. She wished her vision was clear, she wished she could see him clearly to make sure he was okay, that he was still breathing.

Her heart gave a lurch at that.

“You’re a hard bird to find, you know that?”

She stood still, her mouth going dry. She tried to maintain her composure as the head Death Eater walked towards her. She couldn’t see the silver of his mask, yet she couldn’t make out the details of his face.

“We’ve been searching for you across the country. Even your old friend Parkinson couldn’t tell us where you ran off to, or why, or with  _ who.”  _ The man came to a stop in front of her. Her heart was hammering. She had to fight the instinct to retaliate. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve put us through?”

“Not enough.”

Clarke didn’t see his hand coming. 

She gasped when his palm connected with her cheek, slapping her roughly. Her head snapped to the side and pain blossomed across her cheek.

Clarke righted her head, her teeth clenched and blood dripping down her chin. His nose was inches away from hers now.

“I’d watch your tongue, if I were you. Bitch.”

She spit the blood filling her mouth at him with as much force she could muster. He reeled back, his hands flying towards his eyes. She smiled with satisfaction.

“I know how to play this game,” she hissed, anger bubbling out of her. She stepped forward, disregarding the orders he gave her only moments before. “My mother sent you, with direct orders not to kill me. You can’t hurt me.” 

As if to prove her point, she took another step forward, closing the distance between the two of them. She could feel his breath on her face now.

For a moment, silence consumed them. It was eerie, just how frozen everyone was. She was fighting a smile now, knowing that she’d win this game. They couldn’t hurt her. Even though she’d be going back to the place she desperately tried to escape, she wouldn’t be hurt.

“Your mother never told us anything about your friend.” Clarke’s smile faltered. She’d been so caught up in her own world, she forgot exactly what she was playing the game for. 

_ Bellamy. _

She lost her confidence quickly. Her smug expression vanished and panic filled her. 

“He means nothing to her, and he’s a stain for our kind.” The Death Eater took a step forward and she stumbled back. With each word, he stalked forward. “I’m going to kill him, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

Her back hit the counter roughly. Her hands flew out to steady herself. 

She was going to get sick.

The Death Eater turned his back to her, facing the six remaining cloaks outside. “Take him!” His voice was gruff. 

Her mind short-circuited.

“No!” 

Before she could lunge forward, she was slapped in the face again. The heavy ring on his hand drew blood along her cheek.

She heard shuffling from the front of the shop, and she knew it must’ve belonged to the approaching Death Eaters. 

_ Bellamy was going to die. _

That thought pushed her over the edge. Any restraint she held vanished. Her mind snapped to her wand, which rested behind the counter, out of arm's length.

_ Wand. I need my wand.  _

Her fingers flexed. A rush of adrenaline went through her. Desperation made her head spin.

_ Wand. _

_ I need my wand _ .

She needed to fight, she needed to—

Her fingers closed around the familiar wood of her wand. It seemingly hummed to life in her fingers.

She didn’t have time to feel surprised at the sudden appearance of her wand.

Clarke sprung.

She turned and punched the Death Eater in front of her. Instantly, pain shot up her arm, and she heard a crunch from where their flesh connected. 

He stumbled back, clutching his nose.

Clarke rushed forward. She lifted her wand and used as much energy she could muster into casting the first charm that came to mind. 

A brilliant white light shot from the tip of her wand. It was so bright that she could see it through her tightly shut eyes. Death Eaters screamed.

The white light did what she intended it to do. It blurred the vision of the seven Death Eaters around her, hiding her and Bellamy. 

_ They couldn’t kill what they couldn’t see. _

She dropped to her knees and reached towards where she remembered Bellamy was laying. As soon as her fingertips connected with his shoulder, she twisted her wand, making their escape.

As soon as she disapparated, she felt a second set of hands latch onto her from behind. 

_ The Death Eater. _

”No—“

It was too late to do anything. 

They were already travelling.

Seconds later, they appeared back at the Muggle campsite. She felt the solid ground under her feet and two bodies at her side.

The Death Eater was faster than her.

She was pushed roughly before she got her footing and she went tumbling to the ground. She lost track of Bellamy as she rolled down a small incline. The air got knocked out of her chest. 

Tree branches dug into her side. Her foot got hooked on a root jutting out from the ground. Her shoulder connected roughly to the stones. Cold water splashed up on her face.

She was in a forest. Their forest? Their forest. The camp. The birds — there were birds. 

The world was still spinning around her — both from the disapparation and her fall — but she knew where they were. She was laying along the side of the stream they collected their water from, half-way across the Muggle camping grounds from where they set up their tent.

She tried to scramble up, but was kicked back down. Her hip flared in pain. Her wand slipped from her grasp again and rolled across a pad of rocks, once again out of reach. Her hands flew into the water.

Clarke couldn’t think straight. The only thing on her mind was surviving.

“Screw your mother.” 

Suddenly, her head was pushed sharply under water. She screamed on instinct and air bubbles rushed up around her. The icy water shot up her nose and she sputtered.

She fought. Her legs kicked out at nothing. Her hands flew to the ground, trying to push herself free.

The Death Eater had a hold on her braid and he yanked her head from the water. She sputtered and blinked rapidly.

The blurriness was clearing from her vision as the water washed the potion away. She could see his face clearer now. His deep-set eyes, wide nose, and bald head gave him away.

“Jugson,” she rasped, her throat hoarse from screaming. “Jugson, please.”

He shoved her head back under the water. She trashed in his hold again, panic completely engulfing her. 

Her lungs burned. Her nose stung.

She was dying. 

She was going to die.

He jerked her head up again. She gasped and sputtered for air. She fought for her life.

“Jugson, you know me! You took care of me, you—“

For the third time, she was shoved under the water. Her hands clawed at the shore, desperately fighting for her life. Her mind was going fuzzy from lack of oxygen and the utter panic. 

All she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the rush of the water. 

All she could feel was panic and fear.

_ She was going to die.  _ She’d never been so sure of a fact in her life. 

Her hand found purchase on a rock along the shore that had come loose from her clawing. Her fingers curled around the stone, pure animalistic need to survive filling her.

When she was ripped from the water, she struck.

Clarke let out a loud cry and swung the rock around, hitting the Death Eater in the jaw. He released his hold on her and stumbled back, a cry of pain ringing through the trees.

She didn’t waste the opportunity. 

Clarke dropped the rock and lunged forward for her wand. When she turned back to him, her eyes were wild and her hand steady.

The Death Eater — Jugson — was laying flat on his back, his eyes frightened and hands outstretched before his chest. Blood poured from his nose and down his chin.

He looked terrified of her.

They stared at each other for a painstakingly long moment, both of them unmoving. Clarke was breathing rapidly.

_ Do it. Kill him. _

Her fingers twitched along the base of her wand. Her lips tightened.

Jugson must’ve sensed her hesitation. A slick smile spread across his face, showing his blood-covered teeth.

He was convinced that she couldn’t do it. He was convinced that he won.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind, Griffin.” He laughed. “Your mother would be disappointed in you.”

She didn’t waver.

“Thank Merlin,” she said, her voice even and clipped. “I couldn’t live with myself if she was proud of me.” She clenched her jaw. “You’re a disgusting excuse for a wizard.”

The smile slipped from his face.

“Watch it, girl.”

Her heart was pounding.

“You think you’re so much better than others, just because they’re different? Just because they don’t have the same blood as you?”

“They’re vile creatures, with muddy—”

“Shut up.”

He could sense he was getting to her. “They don’t deserve magic, they don’t deserve to  _ live _ . They’re bugs, creatures, disgusting—“

She shot a stunner beside his head, sending dirty flying. “I said shut up.”

“—and those who associate with them are just as  _ vile  _ and muddy as them.” He spat. “You’re a blood traitor, Griffin. Your pet you are fucking is going to die in the worst imaginable way.” 

Her heart froze. 

He was talking about Bellamy. 

“You’re not going to get to him,” she said evenly. 

She fought to keep her thoughts clear, despite wanting nothing more than to lunge at the man on the ground.

He laughed. “What? You’ll protect him? You're the reason why he has a bounty in his head. You’re a stupid girl for thinking he’s  _ safe  _ because of you, when you’re the exact reason he’s wanted dead!”

She knew he was toying with her emotions. He was making things up, trying to hit her where she clearly cared the most.

_ That didn’t stop her from filling with rage.  _ Her breathing was heavy, her teeth groaned from being clenched so tightly.

“Screw off,” she hissed. 

He leered at her. For a moment, they were both frozen and silent, waiting for the other to react first.

Her eyes left him for a brief second, but that was enough.

“You're dead.”

He lunged at her, his face twisted sickly, his eyes blazing with fury. 

A green jet of light shot out from the tip of her wand. 

It struck his chest. 

For a brief moment, his eyes widened and his jaw went slack, and—

Jugson’s body fell to the ground. 

_ He was dead. _

_ She killed him.  _

Clarke crumpled to the ground and leaned on her fours, her eyes wide and chest heaving. It felt like she was going to get sick. 

She just killed someone.

She was seconds away from fracturing into a million pieces and drifting in the wind.

The ground was cold against her hands. Roots and fallen branches from the surrounding trees dig into her skin. Her knees were damp from the soil.

Her stomach was rolling and her whole body felt like it was shattered. Merlin, she just killed someone, and—

_ She wasn’t done yet.  _

She couldn’t break down.

_ Bellamy.  _ She didn’t allow her more than a few seconds to collect herself. Clarke stumbled up, a numbness filling her chest.

_ Please don’t be dead. Please be okay. _

“Bell.” Her voice came out as a mumble. The world tipped on its axis as she tried to climb the hill. 

It felt like she’d spun around one too many times on a broom. The world was moving around her despite her being stuck on the ground. Her stomach flipped around unpleasantly. She felt like she was going to get sick. 

_ But she wasn’t thinking of herself.  _ All she could think about was making sure he was safe, making sure he got out okay, making sure—

“Bellamy.” His name was like a cry from her lips. She didn’t know what happened to him or where he was. “Bellamy?” 

When he didn’t reply, she felt her heart stop. She’d been terrified before, of course she had been, but this was new. 

It was different.

She wasn’t terrified of Death Eaters or of drowning anymore. She was terrified of the unknown. She was terrified of death or murder.

She was terrified for him. Fear like no other was riding up in her, and it made her whole body shake.

Why wasn’t he responding? Why wasn’t he—

Unless—

No—

“Bellamy!” Her voice was growing more desperate. She clawed her way up the hill, pushing past the spinning earth and her pounding head. “Bell—“

She saw him. He was laying flat on the ground, still unconscious. His jaw was slack and lips slightly parted. What terrified her was the fact his chest wasn’t moving. 

_ No. _

She raced forward, tripping over her feet and stumbling forward. Clarke crashed onto her knees in front of his body. Her eyes swept his body, a fear blossoming in her chest. 

Now that her vision wasn’t blurred, she saw his injuries more clearly. His face was pale and covered in scratches. Blood trickled from his mouth and down his chin.

She pressed her hand flat against his chest, but recoiled instantly. 

He was soaked in blood.

It was impossible to see on his black cloak, but her hand was covered with it. 

For a terrifying moment, she stared at the blood on her hand, the air in her lungs trapped.

Clarke fumbled with the buttons for a moment before she ripped open his cloak. She let out a broken sob at the amount of blood soaking through his Muggle shirt. It was completely soaked a deep red. The air felt humid and smelled metallic.

“Bell,” she said, her voice cracking. Tears pricked her eyes.

She had to focus. 

She pushed her emotions back and focused on the body in front of her. She could see his chest rising and falling, which was good.

_ She could still save him. _

Clarke gripped her wand and pulled at the wet Muggle shirt. She angled her wand so she wouldn’t accidentally cut him as she cast a cutting charm.

She cut the shirt right down the middle and pulled each half back, revealing his chest. His skin was littered with several large and long cuts, each pouring blood.

Her hands shook and her mouth was dry. Her confidence wavered.

Could she heal him?

The tip of her wand ran along the smallest wound. Her voice was shaky when she spoke. “ _ Episkey _ .”

The wound stitched back together. The skin pulled, slowly knitting itself into one. 

Then, just when she felt a flicker of hope in her chest, the spell failed and the wound split back open.

She swore. 

Clarke knew it had been a long shot. That spell was reserved for smaller wounds, like a split lip, not deep gashes like this. 

After several more attempts, she was panicking. She didn’t know what other spell to use. 

Clarke racked her brain. The only wounds she saw being healed were small ones from Quidditch. She never was exposed to wounds before, not really. A broken bone on the pitch, a split lip in a fight, stories and rumours from other students.

_ And,  _ she thought desperately,  _ Malfoy’s scars. _

Her hand stilled. Time seemed to slow.

Just a few months ago, she saw scars covering the entire front of Malfoy’s chest. She asked ( _ begged _ ) her Head of House, Professor Snape, to tell her what happened. He mentioned a spell to her, one that healed Malfoy during an ‘unfortunate incident.’

Clarke desperately searched her mind. What spell was it? For the first time in her life, she wished she would’ve listened to Snape more.

_ “Pay attention, Griffin,” he told her, his voice hard. “You’re the one who came to me. You never know when this will be useful.” _

_ “I don’t plan on shredding myself in Quidditch like that idiot,” she pointed out. _

_ “We both know that is not what I am talking about.” _

_ She crossed her arms. “Well, we also both know that I’m not fighting in this war.” She sighed in agitation. “Just… what’s the spell?” _

_ “Vulnera Sanentur,” he told her. “Three times, Griffin. Once to stop the blood flow, once to clear the residue and start the process, and a final time to knit all damaged pieces together. Got it?” _

Clarke hoped that she remembered the incantation correctly. She hoped it would be enough to save him. She hoped she wasn’t too late.

Clarke pointed her wand at Bellamy’s chest. “ _ Vulnera Sanentur _ .” She cast the spell over and over, up and down his chest. Her hand shook. Her voice trembled.

Miraculously, his skin began to heal. Just as her professor said it would, on the third cast, his skin began to knit together. 

She nearly sobbed with relief.

She continued to cast the charm along his chest and arms until his skin was put back together. His torso was a mess of angry red lines — the new skin — but it stopped the bleeding.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. Her whole body shook with exhaustion. She knew that, if she were to close her eyes, she’d fall asleep right there.

Her face was flushed from the effort and she saw double. She felt wetness on her cheeks, and she was stunned to find herself crying.

The thought of losing him drove her beyond reason. She’d never been so scared in her life. The idea of losing him—

She tightened her grip on her wand and lifted it to his head this time. “ _ Rennervate _ .”

Clarke leaned over him, her brown hair sweeping the ground below their bodies. She pressed her ear to his mouth, trying to listen for his breathing

There was a constant string of pleas slipping from between her lips.

_ Please wake up. _

_ Please come back. _

_ Please don’t leave me. _

Below her, she could feel his breathing growing stronger, returning to normal. She pulled back from him so she could examine him better.

“Please,” she begged. Her bottom lip trembled. “Bellamy, wake up. Get up!” She shook his shoulder. “Come on, Bell. Bellamy, wake up.”

His face was growing more twisted, changing from the peaceful expression he wore only moments before.

Her heart skipped a beat. 

Good. 

This was good.

She rested her hands on top of his bare chest, searching for his heart beat beneath. She felt it steadying, and she thanked Merlin.

Her head swept so low that her forehead pressed against his forehead. She sobbed over his body as the adrenaline left her system. 

“Mmmm. Clarke?”

An exhausted laugh left her lips, a mix of bliss and disbelief coming over her.

“Bellamy,” she sobbed. She pulled back so she could see his eyes. “You're okay. Merlin, you’re okay!”

She brushed his hair from his face with unsteady hands. 

“What—?” He stumbled over his words. “What happened?”

“You almost died.” Her voice broke at the end, and she had to fight to keep herself from sobbing. “I was so scared, you were— oh, Merlin.”

She rested her forehead against his again. Her one hand tangled in his hair, while the other remained against his chest, feeling his heart beating steadily under her palm.

_ That was the most terrifying thirty minutes of her life. _

She almost lost him.

She couldn’t imagine living in a world without him.

Bellamy’s hand came up to cup the side of her cheek. He used his thumb to brush the tears off of her face. “It’s okay,” he told her. “I’m okay.”

Her heart ached a little bit more at that. Even after being brought back from near death, he tried to comfort her.

“You're okay,” she repeated. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his even if she wanted to. “You're okay.”

“I’m okay.”

They were both still for a long moment, gazing into each other’s eyes. Emotions swelled in Clarke — relief, fear, desperation.

She almost lost him.

He never would’ve heard how much he meant to her. She never would’ve been able to tell him that he was important to her, that she was thankful for him, that she cared about him more than anyone else.

She never would’ve kissed him.

Clarke’s eyes flicked down to his lips, only inches away from hers. Her breathing hitched. Her heart raced.

“Clarke.” He said her name with such tenderness that it made her chest ache.

His gaze dipped to rest on her lips and the breath left her lungs.

_ No more hesitating. _

Their lips crashed together perfectly — sweetly — desperately.

She wasn’t too sure who initiated the kiss, or if it happened all at once, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she cared about was that he was alive, and breathing, and—

Kissing him was even better than she imagined.

The kiss was desperate on both of their ends. She didn’t want to hesitate with him anymore; almost losing him made everything else seem insignificant. She wasn’t worried about anything else — just the man under her, and showing him how much he meant.

Their noses bumped together. Her fingers threaded through his hair gently. His own hands tighten around her back, bringing her closer. The adrenaline and fear  _ and absolute relief _ made her shake against him. 

His lips were firm and sure, yet soft and gentle. His fingers are feather light, while his arms strong. 

Being this close to him was intoxicating. 

They parted, chests heaving. Clarke was sobbing over him, reality having caught up to her.

“We’re both okay,” he promised her, his voice hoarse. His hand cradled her cheek. “We’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: violence, blood, character death, demeaning language/conversations.
> 
> .
> 
> :)
> 
> Paw  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	18. Chapter 17: Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely responses on the last chapter!!
> 
> These next few chapters are a little different than most of this fic. We'll be covering a lot of time very quickly, and not a whole lot happens, so I'll be jumping days quite often. I always put the date at the top of the section if it is important (or if I really want to show how much time has passed). You don't have to keep track of how many days pass between scenes, but it's more so just to show time DOES skip. 
> 
> A few notes about formatting: if there is a "." between scenes, that means those scenes happen on the same day (within a few hours of each other). If there is a line break, that means more time has passed (a day or several days). Hope this makes sense! I try to make it as clear as possible.
> 
> Warnings: blood/gore
> 
> *NOTE: I am planning on switching the rating of this fic to E within the next few chapters. I'll give you a heads up when it does switch though! I just thought I should warm everyone ahead of time so you aren't surprised. If you have any questions on this, please reach out! I'll be happy to discuss.

**_CLARKE_ **

_ November 29, 1997 _

* * *

Bellamy passed out not long after they broke off their kiss.

While she didn’t blame him, that meant she was left alone with one unconscious wizard and one dead body in the middle of a Muggle campground.

Clarke didn’t take a moment to collect herself. She had to keep moving, otherwise the fractured pieces of her soul would scatter like dust in the wind. She couldn’t think about everything that happened — the attack, the murder, the fear that was eating away at her.

_ Not yet. _

She glanced over the ridge, towards the bank of the stream. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she felt like she was going to get sick at any moment. Her gaze snapped back to Bellamy when her eyes caught sight of the lifeless body in black robes.

Clarke never thought she’d be dealing with this problem. 

_ What to do with a dead body? _

She tried not to think about what she did to get them here — how the Killing Curse came from her wand, how the life drained out of his eyes, how he wouldn’t be going home to the wife she knew he had.

No, she tried to keep her thoughts detached. 

What next?

She couldn’t exactly bury him or get rid of the body; that felt too criminal.

_ (You already are a criminal. You murdered him.) _

She couldn’t take it with them because that was fucked it on so many levels.

_ (All of this is fucked up on so many levels.) _

She glanced around the surrounding forest. Maybe she leave it to the Muggle healers? They dealt with corpses all the time, didn’t they?

But then, that would be bringing a Muggle into a magical problem. He was killed with the Killing Curse — they wouldn’t be able to assign cause of death. If they were to investigate, she’d be risking the Statute of Secrecy.

She decided there wasn’t another option. She’d leave the body to be found by Muggle healers, and the Muggle law enforcement could deal with it from there.

With her mind made up, she locked her jaw and stood. The world tipped around her for a beat, but she kept her legs locked underneath her. Without looking where she was going, she made the familiar journey back down the ridge, towards Jugson.

She couldn’t look at him. Her stomach was churning now more than before. With the adrenaline leaving her system, emotions were hitting her hard.

_ She killed him. _

Clarke kneeled beside his body, her jaw aching from how tightly locked her teeth were. Her eyes scanned the dead body in front of her, and she fought to push her emotions away. She could deal with her regret and grief later.

Right now, they had to survive.

She held her breath as she reached towards him. Her eyes darted between his face and arms, waiting for him to lunge at her in retaliation.

It didn’t come.

He was dead. 

It was hard to wrap her head around it.

Her fingers touched his hand, the one still curled over the wood of his wand. His skin was still warm to touch, and, somehow, that made the whole situation even more horrifying.

_ This had been a living and breathing person. _

_ He used to have blood rushing through his veins, his heart used to beat just like hers. _

Fuck.

She swallowed thickly and worked his wand from his grasp. It might come in handy, having an extra wand, and she couldn’t exactly leave it laying around where a Muggle could find it.

She stashed it in her pocket, her eyes still locked on Jugson’s bruised and bloodied face. Both her hands rested against her legs, her palms growing sweaty.

_ What was she thinking? _

She should leave. She took his wand. They couldn’t stay in the campground; when the Muggle law enforcement arrived, they would be pulling people for questioning, and they’d quickly climb to the top of the list when it was revealed they weren’t legally staying in the grounds, nor did they have any identification.

_ She couldn’t stay here anyways.  _ Not after using so much magic in one area, not almost losing Bellamy, not after murdering someone.

_ So, why wasn’t she leaving? _

No matter how long she looked at him, he wouldn’t come back to life.

Guilt was bubbling up in her.

Her rash decision had permanent consequences — consequences she wasn’t sure how to process. 

Clarke looked away from him, her chin trembling. 

_ You killed him. _

Her vision blurred. Her throat burned. Her stomach rolled.

Fuck, it felt like she was the one dying, not Bellamy. It felt like her soul was inches away from combusting, like it was being ripped into pieces for committing such a terrible crime.

She didn’t know how, but she managed to find her way back to Bellamy. A numbness was creeping up in her, and she predicted she’d get familiar with this feeling in the weeks to come.

Clarke grabbed Bellamy’s arm and disapparated before she could talk herself out of it.

The forest that materialized around them was much different than the one they came from. The trees were thicker, the air colder, the ground steeper and sharper. Clouds hung in the sky, blocking the sun. They weren’t beautiful or fluffy, rather like a blanket of grey on the world. 

Once Bellamy was against a distinguishable rock, she disapparated back to their campsite. Now that she wasn’t fleeing her death, she managed to apparate directly outside of their tent. 

She glanced around their campsite, apprehension growing inside her. Their stuff was scattered throughout the tent. It hit her just how comfortable they got in this specific site.

While she wasn’t a sentimental person, she clung to the idea of the campsite. She felt normal and balanced just that morning, and now everything was falling to pieces.

She’d miss the campsite.

It wasn’t like she’d miss the tree she read her box against — of course not — but she’d miss feeling comfortable and blissful here. This was as close to a home as she’d ever got to.

(It was a sad thought.)

Clarke didn’t waste another moment. With the wave of her wand, the tent and all the items it housed shrank to the size of a Galleon. She swayed on her feet from the strain she was putting on herself from the constant use of magic.

She hauled a few dead branches to cover the space the tent had been set up on. It looked like they had never been there. They were like ghosts in the world, never truly leaving behind a mark. 

Clarke wasn’t sure why it felt like she had been punched in the gut. This was  _ good.  _ They needed to be untraceable.

Even as she twisted her wand to disapparate, her thoughts weighed heavily on her.

.

She didn’t know how she was still upright. The world was tipping around her dangerously and dark spots dancing in her vision. Between the battle and healing Bellamy, she was magically and physically drained.

Clarke knew Death Eaters would be looking for her again — now more than ever. They knew she was alive and on the run with Bellamy. They’d both be hunted.

With that thought in mind, she continued to push herself. She walked the same circular path a dozen times, her wand clutched in one hand and Kane’s book open in the other. Clarke cast protective wards, one after the other, until she couldn’t feel her own body anymore. 

When the sun started to set, she collapsed onto the cool ground. Bellamy was still unconscious and she was starting to get worried.

She didn’t know what to do. The tent needed to be set up, she needed to make a fire, fooded needed to be prepped, she needed to healing Bellamy’s remaining injuries, she needed to heal  _ her  _ injuries too, change both of their clothes, make sure they were both okay—

There was a lot to do, yet All she wanted to do was lay on the ground. 

Her mind wandered back to the empty campsite. She felt a strange emptiness when she considered how much that piece of land meant to her, yet her time spent there could be whisked away as quickly as the sand erased footprints in the sand.

They were meaningless.

They were nothing.

Clarke closed her eyes. She wanted the day to be done.

.

Bellamy woke up hours later, when the tent was set up and the sky was dark. Clarke was half-asleep, nearly passed out from exhaustion.

“Clarke?” His voice was hoarse with sleep and terrified. “Clarke—”

She was at his side quickly, moving before her eyes were fully open. His hand darted out to grip her wrist. His fingers shook against her wrist.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soothing. “I’m here.” She reached forward and brushed her fingertips across the side of his face. While she couldn’t see him clearly through the darkness, the panic in his eyes was obvious. “It’s okay.” 

“What—” Bellamy tried to sit up, but let out a cry of pain before he could move too far. 

She soothed him and shifted closer. “It’s okay,” Clarke repeated. “Stay down. Relax.”

His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were wide and darted wildly around the tent. The muscles across his chest and arms were taunt. “But— What— Where—?”

“We moved campsites,” she told him slowly. “You passed out. You got really hurt. Do you remember anything?”

His eyes landed on her. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and Clarke’s mouth ran dry.

_ He didn’t remember the kiss. _

It felt like all the air had turned to ash in her mouth. She couldn’t breathe, never mind  _ speak. _

Then, after one agonizingly long minute, his grip relaxed and his expression softened. “Pieces,” he admitted. His head fell back into the pillow. “I remember going to Knockturn Alley the second time. I was… I was going to steal the rest of the ingredients while you distracted the worker.” His face twisted. “You screamed.” She remembered screaming his name when she launched herself over the counter at the shop owner. “I remember a flash of pain and… an explosion?” His eyes locked on hers. “There was an explosion?”

“Yeah,” she said. Her fingers brushed through his hair, with the hope of claiming him. He was slowly piecing things back together, but he was terrified. The last thing he clearly remembered was being under attack, and now he was in pain. “What else?”

“Nothing.” Her heart jolted.  _ The kiss. He didn’t remember the kiss.  _ “Pain. Lots of pain.” He grimaced. “I remember you, too. You were above me. Crying.” He looked more confused now. “You were crying?”

“You almost died,” she said, her voice breaking. She hadn’t processed any of the earlier day. “Of course I was crying.”

Bellamy’s expression was guarded and confused. “And then… we kissed?”

She swallowed thickly. A stab of pain hit her heart. “We kissed.” 

She was struggling to think of the right words to say.

_ I’m sorry. _

_ It was on instinct. _

_ It doesn’t have to mean anything. _

—except, those were all lies.

She wasn’t sorry. She had been wanting to kiss him for a while; each day, she fell for him a little bit more, and each day, she imagined his lips on hers more often.

She was trying to lie to herself, and she wished she could do a better job. But, no matter how hard she tried to insist that she would be okay with both of them passing it off for adrenaline, her heart thudded painfully.

Clarke didn’t say anything. If she couldn’t convincingly lie to herself, she wouldn’t be able to lie to him.

He was the one to break the silence.

“I don’t regret it, if that’s what you’re waiting for me to say,” he said after a long moment, his voice raspy. His expression shifted to one of relief. He wasn’t shaking under her touch anymore; the nightmares had already faded away. “I don’t regret it at all.”

Their faces were inches away from each other. She could feel his breath on her face. His eyes dropped down to her lips for a brief moment. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a long time, Clarke.  _ A long fucking time. _ ”

She was hyper aware of every one of his movements. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. He shifted below her, his eyes scanning her face.

“And I’d happily kiss you over and over for the rest of my life,” Bellamy said.

A pause, and then—

“What’s stopping you?”

Their eyes met. The corners of his lips turned up.

“Nothing.”

Then, their lips were pressed together again, less urgent this time than their first kiss. Hours ago, their lips tasted of salt from their tears and blood. Her hands grasped at him out of fear, as if her grip on him could keep him alive. His fingers were clumsy on her, having just been brought back from the brink of death.

_ It was different this time.  _

He tasted like life and happiness. She felt his steady heartbeat under her palm. Her fingers tangled easily in his curls, her touches more sure and slow than before. His hands were on her waist, holding her close, making her head spin. His lips were soft on hers, and the kiss more firm.

When their lips parted, their chests were heaving, just as they were before. She tipped her head forward to rest their foreheads against each other, the intimate moment between them stretching further.

“I don’t regret it either,” she admitted. The joy was quickly bleeding from her body, leaving behind whispers of fear from earlier. “I almost lost you today.” 

It was a truth she was trying to run from.

Bellamy’s eyes were haunted. “I was that close?” he asked. He knew her well; he knew she wouldn’t have been acting this way if his life wasn’t truly hanging in the balance.

“It was close,” she admitted. Now that the first words were spoken, the rest followed easily. “I… I was so scared earlier. I thought  _ Merlin,  _ what if I never get to see you again? Or talk to you?” She swallowed thickly and her eyes continued to search his. “I was terrified that I’d never get to tell you how important you are to me.” Her fingers brushed over his cheeks. “You are so important to me, Bellamy —  _ so important.  _ I… I don’t know when it happened or  _ how  _ it happened. When I thought of you before, all I thought of was how annoying you were, and how righteous and  _ wrong.  _ And, when we were both placed at Kane’s, I couldn’t stand you, and yet  _ here we are. _ ” 

She closed her eyes and relished the feel of him under her —  _ alive. _

“Here we are,” he echoed, his voice breathless. 

“I trust you, Bellamy, and that’s something that I haven’t done with anyone in a long time.” Her fingers curled into a fist. “You are single handedly the most amazing person I know. You can make me laugh, even when we’re in an impossible situation. You make me feel safe, even though we’re currently camped out in the middle of the woods with people hunting us. You understand me, and don’t judge me, and—” She faltered. “And I’m falling for you, Bellamy. I don’t want to ignore it anymore. I don’t—”

She was silenced when his lips pressed against hers. His hand came up to cup the side of her cheek with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

Bellamy was speaking as soon as they parted. “I don’t want to ignore this anymore either.” His thumb brushed across her cheek. “I’m falling for you too, Clarke, and I don’t want to imagine a world without you.”

She pushed a few inches away from him, her hands planted solidly on either side of his head. Her breaths were heavy and her throat tight. And—

“You’re my home, Bellamy.”

_ That was something she had never had before.  _ She never belonged at Griffin Manor, she was always playing an act at Hogwarts, she didn’t spend enough time at Kane’s.

Home, she realized, was never a place — it was nowhere in particular. 

Home was where she felt safe, where she felt herself. Home, to her, was warm arms and soft smiles. Home was secret jokes and effortless communication. It was laughing until her sides hurt, and trusting without a fault, and stupid balancing games.

Home wasn’t a place. It was a person. 

_ It was Bellamy. _

That realization seemed to snatch the air from her lungs.

Bellamy closed the distance between them, supporting his weight on his arm. This kiss was shorter, but more tender than before. When his hand grazed along her back, she gasped into his mouth and instantly recoiled. Pain had burst from where his hand grazed.

He pulled away from her, his eyebrows pushing together. It was almost as if he was seeing her for the first time that day. She knew she must’ve looked rough; she didn’t have the energy to heal any of her wounds. While none of them were life threatening, she knew her face was battered, as was her body.

He locked eyes with her, his expression darkening.

“What happened?”

_ She told him everything,  _ sparing no detail. She told him about the explosion, and how it knocked the wind from her lungs. She told him about the glass on the ground, and the potion that spilled on her face, and the spells flying over her head. When she spoke about her encounter with the Death Eaters, his grip tightened on her the slightest bit. 

And, when she told him how her wand appeared in her hands despite it originally being out of reach, he looked astonished. 

“Wandless magic,” he breathed, his jaw slackening. “You performed  _ wandless fucking magic? _ ”

“It was just a summoning spell,” she said, still trying to fight off her excitement. Bellamy gawked at her and she burst. “I didn’t think I could do it! It’s never happened while I was practicing, but when I needed it, it worked.”

Her good mood took a turn when she explained the events that followed her performance of wandless magic. How Jugson hitched a ride when she disapparated, how she had to fight for her life, how she was convinced she was going to die.

And, when she reached the part in her story when she killed him, she faltered. The words got stuck in her throat.

Bellamy read her easily.

“It’s what you had to do,” he said, already knowing where the story led. If a Death Eater followed them, but they were still alive, there was only one conclusion. “He would’ve killed us.”

Her gut was twisting uneasily, but she pushed it aside. She couldn’t deal with that now — not yet at least. She couldn’t tell him how the life left his eyes. She couldn’t talk about how her body seemed to burn from the inside out as the green jet of light came from her wand. She couldn’t tell him that she was  _ glad  _ he was dead, because he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Clarke couldn’t tell him that she was a monster.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. They both saw through her lie easily.

Bellamy’s eyebrows pushed together. “It does matter,” he insisted. “We don’t have to talk about it, but it does matter.” He gave a quick squeeze to her hand.

One day, she’d face what she did, but not today. Not when she was so exhausted — mentally, physically, emotionally. 

_ That was a problem for another day. _

Later that night, when she couldn’t see straight, she moved back to her own mattress. She sat with Bellamy until he fell asleep. While she tried to convince herself it was for him, she knew the truth.

She needed him just as much as he needed her.

* * *

_ November 30, 1997 _

* * *

The next morning, Clarke was leaning over Bellamy again, a damp washcloth in hand. The pail of water rested beside her, freshly boiled on the now-roaring fire outside.

Clarke reached forward tentatively, brushing the wet cloth against his blood-covered skin. His Muggle shirt had been discarded and his wounds were angry. The skin covering his chest was fresh and red. 

She was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open. She had a restless sleep, despite being too tired. There had been too much chaos.

Below her, Bellamy was grimacing with every swipe of the cloth. She tried to keep her movements gentle, but his skin was sensitive. She wasn’t too sure when he’d be fully healed, especially without the proper potions.

He flinched away from her touch and she bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be.” He settled down below her, his face twisted in pain. “This isn’t your fault.” His hand groped around the mattress until he found her free one. His fingers were tight on hers. 

“I’m almost done,” she promised him. She dipped the washcloth into the water again and wrung it out. Her eyes studied the mesh of red marks along his chest. Some ran deep and looked like they would scar, but most of them looked like they could fade with time. “Just a few more minutes.”

True to her word, only a few minutes later, all the dried blood had been cleaned from his chest. She tossed the washcloth into the red-stained water and smiled at him.

“There,” she said. “Almost as good as new.”

He blew out a long breath and peered down at his chest. His fingers brushed along the jagged and bumpy wounds. He grimaced.

“Almost.”

.

An hour later, Clarke couldn’t move. Her cheek was pressed against the cool ground outside, the dampness soaking into her knees. She watched the fire flicker numbly, feeling too exhausted to do anything else. 

She needed to start brewing the Polyjuice Potion. If they wanted to stay on schedule, they needed to set it to brew as soon as possible. 

Still, she couldn’t pull herself off of the ground. She was determined not to sleep and waste time, but she didn’t have the strength to move.

Bellamy’s hand on her shoulder made her jump. She jolted and spun to him, her eyes wild and heart racing. Clarke hadn’t heard him approach.

He gave her a knowing look. “You should sleep. The potion can wait for one more day.”

Clarke’s eyes racked along his bare chest. His fresh wounds stood out prominently. He clutched at his abdomen with his free arm and he swayed on his feet. 

“Bellamy,” she groaned, already sitting up. “What are you doing out of bed? You need to lay down.”

He pursed his lips, but didn’t speak up. 

“Come on,” she said, standing up. She slung his arm over her shoulder and ushered him back in the tent. “You need to rest.”

“You do, too.” She helped him to his bed, grudgingly on his part. 

“I’m not even tired.”

“You’re a liar.” He held onto her hand. “I’m serious, Clarke, the potion can wait one more day. What’s the harm in that?” Her restraint faltered. Laying down  _ did  _ sound nice. He must’ve sensed her conflict, and tugged on her arm. “Lay with me? Please?”

Her restraint broke. “Okay.” She settled onto the mattress beside him. “Just for a bit though, okay? I really do need to work on the potion.”

Bellamy slung his arm over her torso and snuggled into her side. She was too exhausted to pay attention to how his nose pressed into her shoulder, or how his fingers melted into her waist.

“Just for a bit.”

.

That ‘just for a bit’ ended up turning into the rest of the day. When Clarke woke up, she couldn’t remember falling asleep. Bellamy was asleep beside her, too, his arm tucked securely over her. She had melted into his side while asleep, and they’d managed to curl into each other. 

She felt safe, and warm, and  _ home. _

Outside, she could hear the faint patter of rain, and she knew the fire would’ve been extinguished. She couldn’t exactly brew a potion without a fire, so she relaxed into the bed.

Maybe sleeping for a while longer wouldn't be a bad thing.

Clarke felt his even breaths ghost against her skin, and they lulled her back to sleep. 

.

The sun had set and the only light in the tent was the small flame flickering in the jar. Clarke was sitting on the ground, the mortar and pestle in her lap as she ground together some of the ingredients. When she woke a half an hour ago, Bellamy was still asleep, and she decided there wasn’t a point in waking him up.

She continued to prep the potion ingredients for a while and decided that she’d set them to brew in the first thing in the morning. 

Bellamy let out a groan from the bed and she turned to face him. His eyes fluttered open. “Clarke?”

“I’m still here.” She reached for him, brushing her fingers over his. “Just doing some work.”

His grip tightened on hers. “Come back to bed. That’ll be there in the morning.”

She didn’t miss his choice of language.  _ Come back to bed.  _ He wanted to share his bed with her again.

Clarke couldn’t turn that offer down. She set aside the partially crushed bicorn horn and climbed into bed beside him. 

It was easy to fall asleep.

* * *

_ December 1, 1997 _

* * *

“Better?”

Clarke dug her nose into her pillow and blew out a long breath. Her jaw was locked and her hands curled into fists to try and fight the pain.

“A little.” 

Now that they were both regaining their strength, Bellamy offered to help heal Clarke’s wounds from the battle. He had actually offered the previous day, but she refused, knowing they were both magically exhausted. She wasn’t bleeding out from the cuts along her body, so what did it matter? 

She healed the cuts along her arms and legs by herself, but accepted Bellamy’s offer to help heal the cuts she couldn’t reach — like the ones on her back.

“I think there’s more higher up,” Bellamy said. She shifted and Bellamy moved the back of her shirt up a few inches. “I don’t know if I can reach.”

Clarke huffed in frustration. “This is ridiculous.” 

She pushed into a sitting position, reached over her shoulder and tugged up her shirt. A cool breeze blew across her bare abdomen, sending goosebumps across her skin. 

Clarke glanced at Bellamy over her shoulder. “Better?”

“Uhm. Yeah.” With her in just her bra, the wounds across her back were easily accessible with his wand.

Clarke grinned wickedly at his shocked expression. His eyes hadn’t dipped once; remaining locked intently on hers through the whole conversation.

“You can look, you know,” she pointed out with ease. 

Her heart skipped a beat when his eyes dipped downward, taking in the sight of her for the first time. She studied his face as his expression shifted, and a warmth filled her. Clarke had to actively prevent herself from desperately kissing him. 

All she wanted to do was melt into him, to feel his hands running along her sides, to taste him on her lips, and—

His eyes met hers again, his pupils blown. “You’re  _ extremely  _ fucking hot, Griffin. I hope you know that.” She rocked forward and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. “Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Butterflies had filled her chest and her heart was racing. She couldn’t ignore the  _ want  _ burning inside of her — the want to have his lips on hers again, the want to feel his hands brush along her body.

Fuck.

.

Later that day, they were working on the potion. The Lacewing flies had to stew for 21 days before any other ingredients could be added, and between the two of them, they remembered enough details to start the potion.

Liquid was bubbling inside the cauldron over the fire. The rain the previous night gave Clarke the idea to build something over the fire to prevent it from being extinguished again, which took up a large chunk of their day.

Now that the liquid was boiling and the Lacewing flies were being added, all they had to do was wait. They sat across from each other at the fire, watching the potion as it brewed. Clarke’s cheek was rested on her knee and she drew pictures into the mud by her foot. Bellamy, on the other hand, was lounging back, his eyes closed.

She broke the silence. “Do you think we could’ve been friends?”

“What? At Hogwarts?”

“When I was eleven and you were twelve,” she clarified. “Could we have been friends? If I was sorted into Gryffindor?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “I can’t imagine anything different than what happened.”

She’d been thinking about Hogwarts for a while now. They’d never truly know the answer to her question, but it had been on her mind.

“We hated each other over stupid things back then. I didn’t like you because of Quidditch, you didn’t like me because of my friends, I assumed you were a stuck up asshole, you assumed I was a Death Eater.” She could’ve went on for a while, but she knew they were both well aware of their past difficulties. “I think those things would’ve been solved if we were in the same house at Hogwarts. I would’ve had different friends, we would’ve been on the same team, we would’ve known each other for more than just our reputations. I think we could’ve been friends.”

“I thought I knew who you were back then, and I was wrong. I wish I could go back and tell myself how wrong I was,” Bellamy said.

She appreciated the sentiment. “I was wrong, too,” she said. “I was wrong to think I knew you.”

“Our lives would’ve been very different,” he admitted after a moment. “I honestly can’t imagine you as a lion, Griffin. You’re a true snake, through and through.”

“Humor me,” she said.

“You would’ve had to have shared a dorm with Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati. You probably would’ve gotten along with Hermione. You’re both brilliant witches.” Clarke thought that sharing a dorm with anyone would’ve been better than Pansy. She had loved her friend in Hogwarts, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a nightmare to live with. “Huh. It’s strange to imagine you sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room with a book in your lap.”

“Which chair was my favourite?” she wondered.

“The one closest to the window,” he answered without hesitation. “You like being able to look out at the world. You like to see possibilities; different places to go, places to see, people to watch. You don’t like sitting still or in a cage.” 

Bellamy plowed onward. “You probably would spend a lot of time with a book in your lap; that’s why I think you would’ve been good friends with Granger. She always had a book in her lap, too, and ink on her nose.” 

“Once, I walked around all day with a smear of ink on my cheek, and nobody told me,” Clarke said.

“I would’ve told you. It would’ve been fun having you in Gryffindor. You’re right; we would’ve been friends. Although, it’s a little sad that the only thing stopping us from being friends was the colours on our robes.”

Clarke’s chest warmed as she thought of how different Hogwarts would’ve been if Bellamy was her friend. Maybe Hogwarts would’ve felt more like home. Maybe she wouldn’t have spent so many nights away at the library. Maybe, on the night of the third Triwizard Task, she would’ve been standing beside him, not across the crowd, watching him to make sure he was okay.

“I can’t imagine you as anything except a Slytherin,” Bellamy admitted after a while. His smile softened. “Like I said before, Clarke, you’re a true Slytherin. You’re brave enough to be a Gryffindor, don’t get me wrong, but you’re too logical to be a lion.”

She laughed. “I thought Hermione Granger was a lion? Isn’t she smart?”

“You’re different.” Before she could say anything else, he continued. “Different is good. She’s smart, sure, but reckless. You’re smart, but you don’t do anything without thinking about it first.” He grinned at her. “The head versus the heart, Clarke.”

She smiled back. “The head and the heart.”

.

Later that night, Bellamy was laying on his mattress, his arm slung over his eyes. Clarke moved around the tent, organizing their supplies on the off chance they had to run again.

She snuck a glance at him as she washed out the mortar. He was asleep and she didn’t blame him. Considering he almost died a few days ago, resting more than usual was to be expected.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt so the wounds on his chest could breathe and heal, and her eyes scanned the angry flesh.

It was going to scar. It had been hard to tell the previous days, but she was almost certain now. Whatever cut him — pieces of glass from the explosion, or a cutting charm — it left deep gashes. 

Sometimes, there were things magic couldn’t even fix.

She made a mental note to try and look up more healing charms in the textbook. While she didn’t see any while reading the book, there wouldn’t be any harm in checking again.

With the tent organized, she sat down heavily on the edge of her bed. She busied herself with untying her shoes, intending to go to sleep as soon as she did.

She kicked her shoes off and waved her wand, extinguishing the tiny flame in the corner of the tent. It must’ve been a new moon outside, as no light came from beyond the tent. The darkness seemed to cling.

She laid back in bed, her eyes still refusing to close. She could faintly make out the details of the buckles at the top of the tent, and she traced them absentmindedly.

“Clarke.” Bellamy’s voice was hoarse with sleep. “Where are you?”

“I’m here.” She stretched her hand between the gap of their mattresses, grabbing his hand. “Go back to sleep.”

His fingers were hesitant. “You’re sleeping over there tonight?”

Her brows furrowed. “Yeah, I mean, this  _ is  _ my bed.”

Bellamy stifled a yawn and her heart warmed. “Come over here,” he requested. “I miss you.”

She couldn’t suppress her silly smile. She was thankful for the darkness, so he couldn’t see her expression.

“I’m right over here. You can’t miss me.”

Even though she couldn’t see him, she heard his mattress shift. He patted the spot next to him in bed.

“I like waking up with you right beside me,” he muttered, his voice already drifting off. “You’re cute and I’m good at sharing. Even if you hog the blankets.”

She snorted. “Bellamy,  _ you  _ hog the blankets.” 

Clarke didn’t know why she was hesitating, so she climbed out of her bed and into his. Instantly, his arms wound around her shoulders and she eased into his side. His lips brushed against the side of her head and she let out a content hum.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Bellamy said, his voice whispered. Her chest grew warm with affection. Even while half asleep, he was conscious of his actions.

“I want to,” she assured him. “We just never really talked about it before. I didn’t want to assume.” Her voice was growing softer and more distant too, slipping into a state of relaxation beside Bellamy. It was amazing how safe he made her feel.

His nose brushed against her temple and her eyes fluttered shut. It was easy to fall asleep beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated!


	19. Chapter 18: Radio Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit 700 kudos! This makes me extremely happy, even if it isn't exactly a nice and rounded milestone (like 500 or 1000) but !!!!! I'm just very excited that so many of you are reading and enjoying. This chapter came early to celebrate that fact!
> 
> ALSO happy 100k! With the posting of this chapter, this fic will officially pass 100k. I originally wanted this fic to be around 10k, but I hope you're still enjoying!
> 
> This chapter is formatted similarly to last chapter. A lot of time is covered within this chapter (a few weeks), so it jumps around quite a bit. If days/weeks pass, the scenes will be separated by a line break. If the scenes happen within the same day, they will be separated with "." I assigned dates to some scenes, just to demonstrate the passing of time, but they don't have any significance to the story otherwise.
> 
> Reminder that this chapter will be changing to an E rating (this will be done before the next chapter is posted).
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ December 4, 1997 _

* * *

The weather was miserable. It was raining again, this time soaking through the fabric of their tent and onto their bed.

Clarke and Bellamy spent the day curled together under the blankets. She nestled into his side, being mindful of the healing wounds on his chest. They took turns casting drying charms on the few items they owned, including the blanket wrapped around both of their shoulders.

It was nice. It was like they were cocooned together, shielded from the rest of the world.

It was strange to think of how far removed they were from reality. The world was in chaos, yet they were passing time by sleeping, reading the same damn textbook over and over, and playing games. 

They were living in a bubble. It was only a matter of time until it burst.

“I can’t wait for snow,” Bellamy said suddenly. He brushed his fingers through her blonde hair, pulling it away from her face. “It’s better than this shitty weather.”

“It’ll be cold,” she muttered. Her eyes were closed. She was content to just lay there for the rest of the day.

“Being cold beats being wet. Besides, winter is my favourite season. I always get excited for it.”

“Your favourite memory was of winter,” she recalled. “The one with you and your sister skating with your friends at Hogwarts.” 

Bellamy’s hands stilled. “You remembered that?” 

She was surprised that he sounded shocked.

“Of course.” She pulled away from his side so she could look at him. “I remember a lot of things from before we were friendly toward each other. I listened to what you said.”

He glanced away from her, his expression twisting. She examined him curiously, trying to figure out what he was thinking.

She didn’t have to wonder for long.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at her and she saw guilt in his eyes. “I was so shitty to you back then.” He scoffed. “ I say ‘back then,’ like it was so long ago. It was just a few months ago that I was at your throat.”

Clarke’s heart dropped into her stomach. She’d put those things in the past — at first because they needed to work together, and now because she  _ knew  _ Bellamy. She didn’t think about where they started often — the stereotypes, the shouting, the arguing, the insults, the assumptions.

Her throat tightened. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I was wrong — so fucking wrong. What I did— What I said—“ He shook his head. “It was wrong.  _ I _ was wrong.”

Clarke nodded her head in acceptance. 

“I didn’t give you the time of day. I wanted you out of the safe house, even if that meant you’d have nowhere to go. I was so set on what I believed, and keeping everyone safe, that I… Fuck.”

“Bellamy,” she tried to say, but he shook his head. She fell silent and understanding washed over her. Clearly, this had been something on his mind for a while, and he needed to get it off his chest.

“I’m sorry, Clarke, for thinking I knew who you were. I’m sorry for taking everything out on you — losing Octavia, being helpless in the war, being trapped at Kane’s. You were just like the rest of us — on the run and scared — and I didn’t care. I was selfish and horrible.”

“Yeah, you were a pretty big ass to me,” she agreed. Her hand tightened on his. “But I’ve forgiven you.”

He gave her a look. “You shouldn’t. I hated you for who your family was and for which house you were sorted into. I thought you were dark, and untrustworthy, and dangerous.”

“Do you still think that now?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“No.” He didn’t hesitate. “No, Clarke, you’re nothing like I thought you were. I thought all Slytherins were tied to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and I thought they were all spineless and selfish. You’re the opposite. You’re as brave as any Gryffindor, as loyal as any Hufflepuff, as smart as any Ravenclaw. I know you’re a Slytherin — I can see traits in you that belong to that house. Like being rational, and using your head, and being compartmentalized when you need to be, but people in Slytherin aren’t the only ones who have those traits.

“Out of everyone In the world, I trust you the most. You’ve protected me in battle multiple times and, outside of that, I know you’re loyal and kind. I don’t  _ just _ trust you when my life depends on it — I trust you now, telling you my favourite memories from childhood and my greatest fears and about Quidditch.”

She poked him in the side, wanting to diffuse the tension built up in the tent. “ _ That’s  _ how I know you truly trust me — telling me, your Quidditch rival, all about the game and your strategies.”

He smiled sideways. “I’m serious, Clarke. I trust you.”

She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, craving the intimacy these touches brought them. “I know.”

“If I could take it all back, I would. Every hurtful thing I said, every assumption I made, every hurt I caused.” His chin rested on her head. His thumb brushed across her bicep, outlining the faint white scar from what felt like so long ago. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she repeated her words from earlier. “I’ve long forgiven you, Bellamy.”

“You shouldn’t though,” he said again.

“I did.” She pulled away from him so she could see his eyes. “I forgive you. It’s in the past, and we both didn’t know each other. When I look at you, I see you for who you are now, not for who you were three months ago.” 

“I was reckless and awful.”

“And I’ve forgiven it.” 

It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders — weight that she didn’t know she was even carrying. Saying these words out loud was like settling the final pieces of tension between them. What she said was true, even if she’d never thought of it consciously before. 

_ She had forgiven him long ago. _

“I put it behind us when we agreed to work together,” she told him. “I wanted a fresh start, so I moved on. I never forgot it — of course not — but I don’t hold it against you.” She ran her thumb along his cheek. “It’s in the past.”

He deflated at her words, his head sinking to rest on hers and the tension leaving his shoulders. 

Even though they started out at odds with each other and against each other, she knew her words were true.

She’d forgiven him. For herself, for their group, for Kane, for them.

While she’d never forget where they came from, it was in their past, and that was enough for her. 

* * *

Nightmares were frequent.

In early December, Bellamy struggled to sleep through the night from the pain across his skin. When that finally subsided, he couldn’t sleep because of what he dreamed of when he closed his eyes. 

He almost died. It was easy to forget that fact, considering he was up and walking already. He was caught in an explosion that almost killed him. That was his first encounter with Death Eaters, and knowing he could’ve been murdered took a toll on him.

She understood. While she hadn’t almost died, she knew how close she was to that. If she hadn’t been able to summon her wand, or if a different potion fell on her, or if one of the killing curses rebounded, she’d be dead and they’d be in an entirely different position.

When he woke up screaming, Clarke guided his head to her lap and ran her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. She’d mumble words of comfort to him, hoping her voice would be enough to keep his demons at bay.

He did the same with her.

On December 7th, she woke up screaming. It was similar to the first nightmare she had in the tent, except she  _ knew  _ she was directly responsible for someone’s death. 

The blood stained her hands. She didn’t only shoulder the burden of people she heard dying — she shouldered the burden of being a murderer too.

“I killed him,” she sobbed, her hands grasping at Bellamy’s biceps. It was the first time she said the words out loud.

_ I killed Jugson. _

_ I cast a killing curse. _

_ I’m the reason someone is dead. _

Bellamy held her as she sobbed that night, and multiple nights after. She told him what happened in the woods that day — how she almost drowned, how she didn’t think twice about casting the killing curse, how she felt her soul rip into pieces as she took a life.

“I’m a monster.”

His hands were soothing when he brushed away her tears. 

“You’re not,” he told her. “He would’ve killed countless of people after us.”

_ That doesn’t make it right. That didn’t justify murder. _

“We’re alive because of you, and so are dozens of others. This is a war, Clarke, and you did it to save both of us.”

_ I’m a monster. _

“You’re not a monster, Clarke. You’re human.  _ You’re good _ .”

_ I’m just like them. I’m becoming the thing I feared the most — a Death Eater. _

“You’re not like them — not at all. You feel regret and guilt; they don’t. They kill for sport.”

_ I’m the bad guy.  _

“If you need forgiveness, I will give it to you.” His hands were firm on her face, seemingly holding her together. Her eyes couldn’t leave his. “You’re forgiven.” And, then again, softer, “you're forgiven.”

* * *

Most days were good. They practiced wandless magic, even though she hadn’t been able to move the wand again. 

When they grew bored of that, they would flip to a random page in the book and practice those spells, too.

Bellamy was very good and non-verbal spells, as it turned out. She was good at protective magic, easily casting some of the more complicated barriers.

“You’d probably be really good at the Patronus Charm,” he said, breaking the silence. Clarke was trying to figure out how to make her shield charms last longer when he spoke.

“What?”

The silver shield charm vanished from her wand as her concentration broke. 

Bellamy pushed himself up from the ground to come stand beside her. As he moved, his hand grasped his torso, trying to ease the pain from his injuries.

“A Patronus,” he said again. “That’s what Kane used to tell us to escape back at the safe house. His was a fox.”

Clarke chewed her lip. “I’ve heard of it before, but I don’t know anyone who can  _ actually  _ perform one.” Her mother told her it was a special type of magic, one not everyone had.

Bellamy lifted his eyebrows in challenge. He pointed his wand forward and, after speaking the incantation, a blue misty animal burst from the tip.

Clarke gawked.

The misty spell took the form of a blue Labrador Retrovir, and it immediately circled her. She couldn’t fight the smile of absolute joy. The charm made her feel like she was basking in the sunlight.

“Merlin,” she breathed, reaching out to it. The animal came up to her and nuzzled her hand. A warmth flooded her whole body. “That’s… incredible. How did you learn to do that?”

“Potter, actually.” Bellamy dropped his wand and the animal disappeared. She could feel whispers of the bright magic in her body. “He taught the D.A. back in my sixth year. He learned it when he was thirteen.”

She fixed him with a doubtful look. “Come on.”

“I’m serious. His friends all vouched for him.” Bellamy gestured at her wand. “Why don’t you try?”

Doubt was creeping up in her. “Oh, I don’t know… It’s hard, isn’t it? My mother wasn’t ever able to cast one.”

Bellamy pressed his lips together and came to stand beside her. “Potter said it was difficult, and it is beyond N.E.W.T level magic. He also told us that the ability to produce of the charm hinges on the caster — if they’re distracted, or in turmoil, or emotionally troubled, it won’t work.”

Clarke didn’t say anything, but she thought about the fact that her mother was never exactly emotional. She was involved with the dark arts, even before Clarke realized she was, and she wondered if this trauma impacted that. She heard rumours that dark magic slowly ate away at the witch or wizard.

Like murder. Murder ate away at the soul.

She tried not to think about the man in a black cloak that she killed. Clarke wished that Bellamy kept his Patronus around a little longer to help her fight off the dark thoughts.

She swallowed thickly and tried to get it off her mind. “What do I have to do?”

Bellamy showed her the proper wand movements and taught her the incantation for the spell. He instructed her to think of the happiest memory she could think of to summon her animal.

_ She couldn’t do it. _

Despite speaking clearly and copying his wand movements perfectly, she couldn’t produce the charm. She tried shifting her memory around, changing it from shopping with her mother, to hanging out with friends in the summer, to flying a broom for the first time, and—

Nothing.

“It’s a complicated charm,” he told her when she exhausted herself. “Not everyone can do it.”

That didn’t make her feel any better.

She knew she wasn’t lacking magically, as she could perform wandless magic, which meant it was something else hindering herself. 

“I should,” she said, breathing hard. “I should do it.”

Did she lack so much happiness in her life that she didn’t possess a memory strong enough to feed the spell? Or was it something else — something darker?

Did the Killing Curse damage her soul so much that she didn’t have the capabilities to perform it?

She pushed her hair off her forehead. “Again.”

* * *

_ December 12, 1997 _

* * *

“I have an idea,” Bellamy said as soon as she walked in. 

Clarke sat down on their mattress in the tent, shedding her cloak as she came in from the chilly weather. Her nerves were frayed from having spent most of the day in front of the cauldron, keeping an eye on the liquid. 

She was exhausted, too, and eyed their bed. They almost lost the potion in the night during the storm, and the structure Bellamy built around the fire to keep the water out failed. She didn’t want to plan or throw around ideas — she wanted to sleep.

“What is it?” She was apprehensive. The last idea either of them had nearly killed them both. 

Bellamy was oblivious to her exhaustion. “We both agreed that we’re very cut off from the outside world, right?”

“Right.” Before he could speak again, she was talking. “I don’t want to head back to the wizarding world for updates, if that’s your idea. It’s too dangerous. It’s not a good idea.”

He faltered and frowned. “No, that isn’t my idea,” he said quickly. He eyed her for a while before blowing out a long breath. “Never mind. I’ll ask you later.”

Clarke raised her eyebrow in challenge. “What do you mean? It’s not like I’m doing anything time consuming now.”

“You’re in a bad mood.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No, I’m not.” Besides, even if she was, she was perfectly reasonable. “I’m here. You’re here. Tell me.”

Bellamy clenched his jaw and took a long moment to think. Finally, he relented. “We’re sitting ducks out here. For all we know, the whole world could be burning. You-Know-Who could already have control of Britain. The war could be lost.”

She wasn’t impressed by his statement. It wasn’t like she needed a reminder! “Right.”

“Well, we need to know what’s going on out there if we have a hope of surviving. Muggles have communication systems.”

Clarke pursed her lips. “Yeah, but they don’t report on the wizarding world.”

“No, but they use the same signals. Raven explained it to me once. She said wizarding radio and Muggle radio run on the same network. All we have to do is cast a charm, and we’ll be tuned into wizarding radio. I think.”

“ _ I think _ ,” Clarke echoed, her expression blank. “Well… do you know the charm?”

“No.”

“Okay. And where are we getting a radio from?”

“The Muggle town, only a few miles—”

“That’s dangerous.” She pursed her lips. “What about the radio channel? What radio channel would we be listening to? With your logic, if the Dark Lord has taken over the country, that includes radio.”

Bellamy huffed. “Then we’ll listen to Muggle radio — see if he’s attacking them.” He crossed his arms. “Come on, Clarke, you know this is a good idea.”

“So, you plan to just waltz in the next Muggle town and buy a radio?”

He narrowed her eyes. She could see he was getting frustrated, and she felt a similar feeling burning in her. “Yes. Why? You have a problem?”

Clarke picked up her robe and fluffed it out. “Yeah, I do. It’s dangerous. Besides, we don’t have money to buy a radio.”

“So? That didn’t stop us before with  _ your _ plan.”

Clarke scoffed. “Right. Like my plan worked so well.” Her gaze flicked to Bellamy’s neck, where she could still see angry red marks over the collar of his shirt. 

Bellamy huffed in frustration. “Just say it’s a bad idea if you’re so against it.”

She glanced at him. “I’m just pointing out the flaws. That’s all.”

“Right,” he snapped, standing up. “Like you know so much better than me.”

She threw down her robe, this time with more force. “This time I do, because we’re talking about strategy and planning. I know those things.”

“What, and I don’t?” He glowered.

“No!” She stood up to match him. “I know about strategy though. I was a Quidditch Captain — you don’t think I know strategy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nice, Griffin, bringing up Quidditch when things get rough.” The use of her surname stung more than it should have. “If you don’t remember —  _ I was also a Quidditch Captain! _ ”

Clarke tried to keep her expression unfazed. “True,” she said, pursing her lips, “but—”

“And, if I recall correctly, Gryffindor won more Quidditch Cups than Slytherin.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re being stupid,” she said heatedly. “I brought up that point because we both know I’m more strategic than you.”

“Oh, do we?”

“Well,  _ I  _ do, at least. We both agreed you’re reckless and don’t always think things through.”

“Right.” He brushed past her and exited the tent. 

For a second, she stood unmoving.

He was cold, and distant, and  _ fuck  _ — what was his problem? He had such an attitude and for what? Because she didn’t want him risking his life for a shitty radio?

Bellamy was rattling around outside the tent and her heart lodged in her throat.  _ He was leaving.  _ She spun on her heel and chased after him.

He was bent over their food bag beside the tent, quickly unloading the cans onto the damp leafy ground. She didn’t go to him; rather, she hovered by the flaps of the tent. Bellamy’s body was tense and his breathing was heavy.

He was mad. 

At her, at the world — she wasn’t sure. 

_ Fuck.  _ Why would he be mad at her? Her nerves were already frayed from the potion, and now he managed to push them even further.

“What’s your problem?” she snapped. He didn’t respond and she tried to soften her approach. “Where are you going, Bellamy?”

“To the Muggle town.” He glanced in her direction. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to come.”

She narrowed her eyes. Did he think she only worried about herself?! “It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t go. It isn’t worth it.”

“What isn’t? It isn’t worth it to get a radio — to get some communication with people other than just us?”

“It isn’t worth it to risk your life over,” she snapped.

“You just don’t want to hear the radio,” he accused. A sharp pain radiated from her chest with his words. “You don’t want to know what’s going on out there because it’s easier to be oblivious than it is to be useless.”

Clarke glared at him, her anger mixing easily with her hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you  _ want  _ to remain in the dark.” He stood up abruptly and shouldered his bag. “I want to know what’s going on in the world.”

“Bellamy,” she said, her voice breaking. “You know that’s not true.  _ You know _ .”

He hesitated for a brief moment, before adjusting his hold on the bag and glancing away from her. “I’m going.”

“You’re not going! Bellamy, you can’t be serious.”

“I am serious.” He rounded on her. “You aren’t my mother, Griffin, and you can’t stop me.”

Her expression wavered. “Bellamy“ She reached for him. “No, I’m just worried about you. I’m not forcing you to stay here, but—“

“Then let me go,” he snapped. 

Before they could argue any further, he grabbed his wand and stormed out of the campsite. 

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, the adrenaline rushing around her system from their fight. Her ears rang, her mind spun.

_ Fuck. _

He continued stalking away from the campsite, each step hitting the ground with force. She watched him leave; with each step he took, hurt grew in her chest.

_ He thought she didn’t care about the world. He was leaving her.  _

When he turned back to see her, she could see him hesitate. His eyes danced across the campsite, completely skipping over everything, almost like he saw through them.

_ He did see through them.  _

The wards were holding. If she performed the wards right, he stopped seeing her and the campsite as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

Clarke lifted her chin in defiance, even though he couldn’t see her anymore. 

_ Fuck him. _

If he wanted to act reckless, then so what? He was right — she wasn’t his mother. 

She peeled her eyes off of Bellamy’s retreating back and stormed into the tent.

.

She was mad at him.

Clarke’s back was pressed against her favourite tree, her wand in hand and a blanket around her shoulders, waiting for Bellamy to return. She would’ve loved to have been asleep by the time he got back, but she had to  _ wait  _ for him so she could drop the wards and let him in.

Of course, he didn’t think of that before he left. He apparently didn’t think his actions had consequences; that his words didn’t matter.

She was mad that he left without discussing things. She was mad that he thought so little of her. She was mad that what could’ve been a simple conversation was turned into something so stupid.

They spent years being enemies — of course he could get under her skin easily. They knew exactly what to say to the other to get them riled up. She just couldn’t figure out  _ why  _ he argued with her — why he tried so hard to dig under her skin.

Didn’t he see how hurtful his comments were? Didn’t he think about his actions before he stormed off?

Clarke sucked in a breath between her teeth.

.

Maybe she wasn’t as mad as she thought she was.

After what felt like hours of mulling over her thoughts, she came to the conclusion that she was more hurt than mad. She remembered reading that anger was often used to cover up hurt.

She was upset that he left without discussing things with her. Seeing his back turned to her was terrible; it was something she never wanted to see again.

She was hurt that he thought she didn’t care enough to get a radio, when it was the exact opposite. She cared  _ so much  _ that she didn’t want to see him get hurt. 

He was supposed to know her best, yet his words conveyed that he didn’t know her intentions. If he thought she wanted to remain oblivious and hidden from the war, he didn’t know her at all.

Clarke watched the flames lick along the bottom of the cauldron, her whole body aching from hurt.

.

Fuck, Bellamy was right. She had been in a bad mood when she came into the tent, right before he told her his idea. She had just came in from working on the potion and she was already frustrated.

She shot down his ideas. She was in a bad mood. She was quick to dismiss and snap.

It wasn’t all her fault — she knew that — but it wasn’t all of Bellamy’s fault either. They both got under each other’s skin.

Clarke blew out a long breath and glanced at the sky. The blue was slowly melting into red as the sun faded beyond the horizon.

Hours. It had been hours since he left.

She scanned the forest in the direction of the Muggle town, hoping to see some movement.

Nothing.

Fuck.

.

Clarke was getting worried.

Bellamy had been gone for a while. She knew it was a several mile hike there and back, but  _ still  _ he should’ve been back by now.

Clarke felt sick. Her mind was running wild with all of the horrible possibilities.  _ Death Eaters found him. They were hunting for him now that they knew he was with her and he didn’t wear a disguise. What if they found him? _

She paced for a while, trying to fight the temptation to go after him. She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he could’ve been dead in that moment. Or, worse, being tortured by her mother.

Clarke clenched her teeth and crouched beside the fire, a chill shuddering her whole body. The picture of her mother standing over Bellamy wasn’t one to imagine. She could see how his body would twist on the wood flooring of Griffin Manor. His screams would echo through the halls of her childhood home. Her mother’s wand would be pointed at his chest, and she’d be  _ smiling.  _

The wetness from the ground seeped through her pant legs around her knees. Her stomach was rolling and her ears ringing.

She should’ve went after him. She should’ve chased him when he left hours ago. She could’ve kept him safe — she did once before at Knockturn Alley, and she’d do it again.

Except, she didn’t go after him, and he was out there alone.

Stupid. It was stupid.  _ She  _ was stupid. She let her emotion cloud her judgement.

Clarke stood up again and continued pacing.

.

She saw him before he saw her. 

As soon as she spotted him walking in the distance, she jumped up, sending the blanket falling to the ground. 

She felt like sobbing. She had been so worried about him. Relief crashed through her, and she was tempted to pull him in for a kiss as soon as she could. Her hands shook and her stomach rolled.

Merlin, she had convinced herself that he was dead or worse.

Just as quickly as the bliss filled her, it vanished. Seeing Bellamy again made her emotions rise up. She remembered that the only reason she had been terrified was because  _ he left her  _ because of a stupid arguement.

When he was closer, it was obvious he had no idea which direction to go. With the wave of her wand, she dropped the wards around the campsite, and crossed her arms. Bellamy’s head snapped to their revealed home, and he adjusted his path.

She waited for him as he approached. She almost forgot what it was like to argue with him. It had been so long since they were at odds with each other and it made her throat burn.

_ Why?  _ Why did they end up here?

_ We’re both tired and bored,  _ she told herself.  _ We have been stuck together, without a break, for months. He is the only other human I’ve seen for nearly a month. It’s natural that we argue.  _

“Stop there,” she ordered, her voice hard and commanding. Bellamy was a few paces in from the threshold of the wards — close enough for her to talk to him without shouting, but far enough that she had enough reaction time if something went wrong. 

He blinked in confusion at her. “Clarke—”

_ Back to Clarke? No Griffin? _

“Drop everything.” Her wand was pointed in his direction, her eyes watching his every move closely. 

He didn’t move. He looked at her wand warily. “Clarke, what the hell?”

Her hand twitched. “I said  _ drop everything. _ ”

He must’ve sensed that she wasn’t playing around. He dropped the bag off his shoulder and turned his palms towards her. 

“Good. Now, throw your wand.”

“What!?”

She didn’t waver. “Reach into your pocket slowly and throw your wand in my direction.”

He looked annoyed at her request. “This is ridiculous, just let me back in—”

“No.” She took a step towards him. “This isn’t ridiculous. You abandoned our campsite — you abandoned me, and—”

“That doesn’t give you the right to order me around.”

Clarke clenched her jaw. “You left, you went somewhere unaccompanied, and now you’re returning. How am I supposed to know you’re you?”

She could see the frustration slip from his features. He hesitated. “What?”

“You could be under the Imperius Curse right now, or be someone else using Polyjuice Potion.” Her eyes swept over him, looking for any detail out of place. 

Bellamy’s face shifted and his shoulders dropped. “Right,” he breathed. “You’re right. Sorry.”

She didn’t let his pretty words sway her. She gestured to his pocket. “Wand, Bellamy.”

He did as she asked and tossed his wand in her direction. Her eyes flicked down to examine it, while her wand kept trained at his chest.

She recognized the pattern in the wood. It was his wand.

She relaxed a bit.

“Okay.” She regarded him again. “Prove your identity.”

“What?”

“Prove who you are. Tell me something only we would know.”

Bellamy shifted uneasily. Her grip tightened on her wand. 

After thinking for a few seconds, he spoke. “Our Boggarts in 1994. Mine was of my dead sister. Yours was of your mother dressed as a Death Eater.”

She bit her lip. It was correct, but it was also fairly common information. Anyone from their classes could know that.

“More,” she requested. “Tell me something else.”

His eyes scanned her face.

“You always used peach shampoo at Kane’s safe house,” he said. “Your favourite candy is sugar quills. You didn’t know how to cook. Your favourite breakfast cereal is Lucky Charms, and your favourite marshmallow type is the rainbow. When you think, your nose scrunches up. Your name is Lois Blake when we’re in the Muggle world, and I chose that because of Superman, even though you don’t know what that is. You—”

“Okay,” she said, cutting him off. Her heart was aching in her chest. Her wand dropped to her side and she smiled thinly at him. “I believe you. Just had to make sure.”

He didn’t make a move closer to her. “It was smart.”

Clarke couldn’t help herself. Anger was still fresh on the surface. 

Her eyes narrowed. “Right.”

With a twitch of her wand, she felt the wards shift back into place behind him. Clarke couldn’t even look in his direction.

“Hey, Clarke—“

She was already walking back into the tent. Her eyes stung with tears, and she refused to let him see how much his earlier words hurt. It felt like the air around her was heavy and thick.

She picked up the book she left out on her mattress. He followed in after her, but she pointedly ignored him.

“Clarke.” He came up beside her. “Hey—”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” she snapped, her eyes flashing. “I’m mad at you.” Her expression softened. “I’m glad you’re back safe, but…”

“I was an ass.” Bellamy sat down heavily on his mattress across from her. “I know.”

“Not only were you an ass, but you went specifically against something we were discussing. I said it was too dangerous! Especially for a radio. A radio!”

She was fuming. She couldn’t let this go without telling him how much it hurt.

Clarke shook her head and turned away from him. “You told me that I didn’t want to know about what was going on in the world — that I wanted to stay oblivious.” Her eyes were burning with tears again. “You know my biggest regret was not doing enough before. You know that, Bellamy, but you still said that!”

“I know,” he echoed. “I’m sorry. It isn’t true.” His head fell to his hands. “I know you don’t want to be oblivious. You’re the one who came up with the plan to get back to the safe houses so we can do more in the war, after all.” She remained silent. “You knew it would be dangerous, and you wanted to  _ think  _ about it — to plan. I took it as you not wanting to go. I wasn’t listening to you.”

They were different. 

She liked to plan, he liked to act. 

She used her head, he used his heart. 

They approached things differently and this was a prime example of that. 

Their eyes locked. His eyes were burning with intensity that she’d never seen before. “I know what I said and I regret it. I don’t mean those things — not at all.”

Her voice cracked. “You still said it.” She looked away from him and brushed a few tears from her face.

Maybe she understood why he saw issue with her wanting to plan. Maybe she understood that he was acting without thinking.

But that didn’t excuse what he said as they argued. 

“I was angry when I said that.” He swallowed thickly. “It isn’t a good reason, I know. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Clarke finally turned to look at him. When she did, her chest ached a little more. “Bellamy, you left me.”

He lifted his head to look at her.

She was close to sobbing.

“You left me,” she repeated. “I didn’t know where you went. I didn’t know if you were alive. If I didn’t drop the wards, you wouldn’t have found your way back here. You. Left. Me.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “That was more reckless than anything.”

A wave of hurt crashed into her. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “We can't just  _ leave  _ when we get upset. We… We’re in this together. We can’t just abandon each other. We are all we have in the world right now.”

Bellamy reached for her. She didn’t try to pull away. 

“I intended to come back.” His face was twisted with hurt. “I didn’t leave thinking I’d never see you again. I wasn’t abandoning you. I’d never do that.”

Clarke finally let her hurt slip. Her expression crumpled and she sobbed into her hands.

“I was coming back. I will always come back to you, Clarke.” His hand grasped hers. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I didn’t even want to listen to you.”

Clarke moved forward and wrapped her arms around Bellamy. His arms encircled her frame, pulling her close.

Bellamy’s fingers tightened on hers. “Forgive me?” he asked.

Her heart throbbed. “Of course.”

* * *

The radio turned out to be useful.

Neither of them could figure out how to tune into the wizarding radio stations, but the Muggle ones were good enough to get basic news.

They learned the world was not on fire.

The Muggle world was still oblivious to the war raging in the wizarding world.

Death Eaters weren’t constantly attacking the Muggle world, as they hadn’t heard a single report on the radio about mysterious deaths or attacks.

Clarke also learned about Muggle music, which was completely foreign to her. The wizarding work was limited when it came to music, while the Muggle world had genres and artists.

They passed the time easily by listening to music. Bellamy often kept it on classical channels, as Clarke recognized more of that music than pop.

It was nice.

The radio wasn’t the only thing Bellamy got on his adventure. A bottle of whiskey sat at the back of the tent, with promise of using it on a rainy day. 

One night, Clarke was drawing in the back of the tent, while Bellamy laid on the ground beside the radio. She felt his eyes on her, but didn’t say anything.

Finally, he spoke.

“I wanted to get the radio because I’m desperate,” he said. “Kane told us of an underground radio station that releases information the Prophet doesn’t. They don’t spread propaganda — they spread the truth. They’re a beacon of light.” Clarke was looking at him now, listening intently. “The Prophet doesn’t release the names of people murdered during the war, but this radio station, and I thought… I thought they might mention something about Hogwarts, or our friends, or Octavia.”

Clarke bit her lip. That explained why he was so desperate to get a radio. Their argument began to make more sense.

_ He was desperate, and desperate people did reckless things.  _

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to admit that I’m desperate for answers — that I’m still thinking about Octavia and our friends.”

“I, of all people, would understand that.” 

She also understood how personal these details could be. If it was something he had been thinking and worrying about for months, it would carry a lot of weight to him. It must’ve been hard for him to talk about it.

“Thank you for telling me,” she added. Clarke set down the Muggle pen and picked up the radio. “Now that I know there’s something we’re looking for, I’ll try harder.”

She glanced at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye and smiled.

He smiled back.

* * *

Despite trying harder than before, she couldn’t figure the radio out.

Bellamy pretended that he wasn’t disappointed.

She saw through it.

* * *

The radio was driving her up a wall. She cast countless charms on it that  _ should’ve worked,  _ but nothing came.

They both agreed to give it a rest.

“At least it’s useful for something,” Bellamy muttered, adjusting the volume on the Muggle music playing through the speakers.

_ Too bad it isn’t useful for what we need. _

* * *

_ December 16, 1997 _

* * *

Clarke curled against Bellamy, her hands desperately roamed his back, her lips pressed firmly against his.

What started out as them figuring out the radio together on their bed quickly turned into  _ this _ . The radio now lay discarded on the floor, the Muggle music playing softly from it. 

Her back was pressed into the mattress and Bellamy’s body blanketed hers. His hand cupped her face gently, his fingers brushing through his hair.

Their kisses were tender and filled with so much emotion that it made her heart ache. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest, just below her palm.

“You know,” Bellamy said when they broke for air, “you are an amazing witch.”

Clarke shifted under him, flipping them over. She straddled his hips and dipped her head to hover inches from his. Automatically, his hands hooked onto her hips to steady her.

Warmth was pooling in her stomach. Every brush of her skin against Bellamy’s resulted in fire erupting across her body.

She wanted more of him.

_ Needed more of him. _

Their lips pressed against each other’s again, this kiss hungrier than before. Her teeth tugged at his bottom lip and his grip tightened on her hips.

Her chest was heaving. Her body ached with want.

“Bell,” she breathed his name against his lips. He shivered beneath her and pulled her tighter against his body. 

She pulled away teasingly.

His breathing was ragged. His eyes were dark with desire, his pupils blown. His lips were parted the slightest bit and, fuck, she wanted to kiss him again.

Her gaze continued lower. She studied the sharpness of his jaw, and the curve of his neck, and the freckles across his cheeks. Her hands trailed gently along his abdomen, her mind acutely aware of the healing wounds laying beneath.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed. Her eyes snapped back to his, a coy smirk growing on her face. He was looking at her like no other person had — with so much adoration.

Clarke swooped back down, capturing his lips in another kiss. When their lips parted the next time, he continued to place open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

She couldn’t hold back her moans.

His hands pressed into her exposed skin from where her shirt had ridden up. His palms brought warmth to her skin. Fire licked across her body.

_ It wasn’t enough. _

Clarke reached down and threaded her fingers through his. With their joined hands, she guided his fingers to the hem of her shirt and tugged it up. 

He got the hint easily.

She broke the kiss to allow him to pull her shirt over her head. It was discarded on the ground beside the mattress without a second thought.

His hands roamed her body. She watched him, her lip between her teeth, as he took in the sight of her. She’d taken off her shirt in front of him before, when he was healing her wounds, but this was different — more intimate.

“Fuck, Griffin,” he breathed. Unlike earlier in that week, her heart didn’t sting with the use of her surname. Instead, it skipped a beat, and she ground into him.

He sat up and reclaimed her mouth for a searing kiss, her legs still wrapped around his hips, their bodies pressed flush together.

She got lost in the kiss. Her fingers were in his hair, tugging at the curls, and then they were running along his shoulders and arms. Her lips explored his mouth and neck, familiarizing herself with each curve and dip.

She grew familiar with his moans. Every time her name passed through his lips, warmth would flood her, and she wanted more.

_ More, more, more. _

Her hands followed the familiar curves of his muscles and lines of his scars. He gasped into her mouth from her light touches, and she smirked. She reached for the hem of the shirt and pulled it over his head. Clarke tossed it over the side, her eyes already appreciating his body.

She was panting with want, and  _ fuck _ she—

A loud crackle filled the air. 

She tumbled off of Bellamy and from the bed, rolling onto the ground in a graceless heap. Her heart was in her throat and racing. Her wand somehow found its way into her palm, and she had it pointed at the radio.

_ The radio. _

The loud screech had come from the radio, not someone attacking them. Bellamy’s shirt caught the antenna of the Muggle device, and it shifted to a louder radio station.

As soon as she realized they weren’t under attack, Clarke relaxed. Her hands were shaking and she pressed them to the ground to steady herself.

Bellamy rolled over and switch the radio off, shrouding them in silence. She watched him in shock as she tried to catch her breath.

He fell back on the bed, his eyes wide and chest heaving. He looked as terrified as she felt. Their hands joined. She could feel him shaking too.

Clarke climbed back into bed, sliding in beside him. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “We’re safe,” he promised her.

She swallowed thickly. “We’re safe.”

It was a small reassurance, but one that she appreciated. 

Clarke tried to ignore the little voice in her head that told her they wouldn’t always be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> Paw  
> [ Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	20. Chapter 19: Mind, Body, Heart, Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [thelittlefanpire](https://thelittlefanpire.tumblr.com/) and [eyessharpweaponshot](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/) for pre-reading this chapter and giving such helpful feedback. They’re both always so encouraging and really hype me up haha.
> 
> Warnings are at the bottom! Please note the rating change (to E) and tag changes since the last update.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ December 17, 1997 _

* * *

Clarke watched him from across the fire, a half-smile on her lips. He was attempting to heat up some canned food over the flames and failing, but it was endearing to watch him work. She liked watching how his forehead wrinkled with thought, and how his eyes seemed to grow darker with intense concentration.

They’d grown closer, there was no denying it. Her fingers lingered on his arm when she’d reach for his attention. She could tell what he was thinking without a second glance. 

She never would’ve guessed that she’d be this close to Bellamy. Out of everyone in the world, Bellamy Blake was the last she would’ve chosen to go on this adventure with. Looking back now, she couldn’t imagine anything different.

Somewhere along the line, he’d become her best friend. She couldn’t recall a time in her life where she felt so  _ content.  _ She’d never trusted anyone more than she trusted him.

“You okay?” Bellamy asked, breaking her train of thought.

She tossed a handful of cereal into her mouth. “I’m great.”

And that was the truth.

* * *

“Holy fuck!” 

Clarke clutched her wand and let out a loud cheer, pure bliss overwhelming her. Bellamy’s arms were around her middle, and he spun her around, the same bliss filling him.

“I knew it!” He pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. “See! I told you it wasn’t a fluke!”

For the second time in her life, she managed to wandlessly summon her wand. This time, she did it without being in a life-or-death situation.

It was amazing, and she was filled with adrenaline. Merlin, she almost believed that she couldn’t do it after so many failures, but she did.

Clarke pressed her lips to Bellamy’s and he spun her around again.

* * *

_ December 20, 1997 _

* * *

When Clarke woke that morning, she could see her breath fog out in front of her in clouds. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and snuggled into Bellamy’s chest. It looked as if his wish for snow was going to be coming true soon.

“Good morning.” Bellamy’s voice was thick with sleep. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Clarke had to bite her lip to keep herself from turning around and kissing him senseless.

“Good morning.” She melted into him and his arms tightened around her. His mouth continued to kiss up her shoulder to her neck. Her toes curled and she let out a sigh of content. 

“What would you say if I suggested we just stay in bed all day?”

She spun around and captured his lips with her own. “I would agree with you wholeheartedly,” she said. His lips brushed against her jaw and her eyes fluttered closed.

Her hand trailed along his nearly-healed chest, her fingers grazing against the slightly raised skin of his scars. “How does it feel?” she managed to ask.

He pulled away from her neck. “How does what feel?” His voice was breathy and it caused a warmth to pool in her veins.

“The scars. The cuts.” His hand traced patterns into her bare hip and she shivered.

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to her neck again, more solid than before. “Really good, actually. You’re an amazing healer.”

They both smiled at each other before their lips met again. The rest of that day was spent wrapped in blankets together, tasting each curve of their bodies. 

This method of fighting the cold quickly became one of Clarke’s favourites.

* * *

Bellamy could braid hair.

It was a fact that she discovered late into December.

They’d been in the tent, as the weather outside had become more than unpleasantly chilled, listening to the Muggle radio. They were both leaning against the newest piece of furniture in the back of the tent — a table and two chairs that had been transfigured from fallen tree branches. They sat across from each other at the table, listening to their favourite radio show. It was terrible and cringe-worthy, but it made them laugh.

Clarke was curled in on herself laughing and Bellamy was staring at her. She caught him and pulled a funny expression.

“What? Don’t tell me I’m growing a second mouth.”

She expected Bellamy to roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment, but his expression never changed from the tender one. 

“What?” she repeated again, feeling self-conscious. 

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” he asked. She was surprised by his question. “It's just… I’m bored enough to watch the grass grow.”

She laughed. “Glad to know braiding my hair is only  _ slightly  _ more entertaining than watching grass grow.” That made him crack a smile. “Of course. I’d love it.”

She got up from her bench and sank to the ground in front of him, settling between his knees. His fingers combed through her hair a few times.

“Where did you learn how to braid?”

He began weaving the strands in and out of each other. 

“My mom,” he said. His movements were increasingly gentle and feather light. “I used to braid Octavia’s hair as a kid.”

Clarke closed her eyes, letting herself relax into his touches. They were both silent for a while — Bellamy in concentration, Clarke in relaxation.

“I don’t know your sister too well,” she mumbled, her lips barely moving. “Can you tell me about her?”

His hands slowed. “You want to know about Octavia?”

“Of course. She’s your sister. You love her.”

Bellamy was silent for a while. Clarke hoped that she wasn’t upsetting him by bringing his sister up. She knew that he got upset easily about her.

“She was great,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was tight with emotion. “She wasn’t ever limited by what people told her. If someone told her that she couldn’t play on the Quidditch team, she’d practice until her hands bled. If someone told her she couldn’t excel in one class, she  _ would _ .

“She was always looking for the next great adventure, you know? She wouldn’t achieve something and then be satisfied. She had a drive to do great things, to always be better the next day. She was always changing and shifting and striving to be the best version of herself.”

Clarke tried to ignore the fact that he used the past-tense when talking about his sister. It was as if he truly believed she was dead, and that made her chest ache.

“She was sweet when she wanted to be, but firm and demanding, too. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she’d never let herself sway from that — not by anyone, including herself.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Octavia was a brat, don’t get me wrong, but I loved her.”

“You still love her,” she said. “You’ll always love her, no matter what.”

His hand stilled.

“No matter what,” he agreed. 

The rest of the braid was made in silence, but it was a comfortable one. Her mind was locked on Octavia, and how much her brother cared for her.

She wished she knew the youngest Blake better. She saw her a few times at Hogwarts, but only ever in passing. Clarke’s impression of her was that she was a fierce and fiery girl, and Bellamy’s words only confirmed that.

“Done.” He tied the elastic around the end of the braid and flipped it over her shoulder to see. She glanced down at the strands and smiled.

“Impressive.” She craned her neck to look at him. “Next, it’ll be my turn to do your hair.”

* * *

_ December 23, 1997 _

* * *

Clarke blew out a long breath and watched as fog tendrils appeared before her lips. The air was crisp, but not painfully so. The heating charm she cast on her sweater was still in effect, guarding against the winter weather.

She narrowed her eyes into slits, locking on the two objects across from her. One was a simple package of crackers, the other her wand.

Clarke still couldn’t manage to wandlessly summon objects that weren’t her wand, and even then, her ability to do that was limited.

She assumed that her wand came to her more easily than other things because she had a bond with it. She was always told from a young age that a witch and her wand would be connected deeply, and she could  _ feel  _ the truth now. When she tried to summon her wand, she could, but only if she thought in that deeply imbedded connection.

Clarke pointed her hand towards the pack of crackers. “ _ Accio! _ ” When they didn’t move, she wasn’t disappointed. She knew it was a long shot. When she repeated these actions with her wand, a flickering feeling of joy filled her when it shot right into her hand.

Right. She just needed to practice. Simple enough. She’d start by perfecting the wandless summoning of her wand, and then branch out to other things.

Clarke pushed off the ground and shuddered when the cold air washed under her cloak. She sucked in a sharp breath and quickly tucked her cloak tighter around herself.

As she moved to set her wand a distance away from herself, she glanced at the sky. The stars looked down on her between thick clouds and she smiled. The constellations blinking down reminded her of Bellamy’s freckles.

Her grin was silly when she set her wand back down. Just thinking about him sent a rush of affection through her. Warmth pooled in her gut, butterflies filled her stomach, her heart bested a little quicker.

She was so far gone, it wasn’t even funny.

Clarke could still feel his lips on hers from their kiss earlier that day. While it wasn’t their first kiss, and certainly not their last, it still left her feeling weak in the knees and dizzy.

She chewed her lip and settled back onto the ground. She forced her mind off of how his lips felt against hers and how his hands left a trail of fire along her body.

She needed to focus.

The next several summoning attempts were successful and she was feeling confident in herself. If she ever got herself into a situation like the one in Knockturn Alley, she was confident that she’d be able to get her wand and get out.

The more she thought of the different details of her wand, the easier it became to summon it. She thought of how the grain felt under her fingers, and how it grew warm, even when not in use. She thought of how it nestled perfectly into the palm of her hand, and how her fingers curled around it.

That time, the wand shot to her hand faster. She let out a tiny laugh and shook her head in disbelief. 

_ She could do this. _

Clarke got up from the ground to put the wand further away from herself. Just as she was reaching forward to place her wand on the ground, a white snowflake landed neatly on the back of her hand.

She froze, her eyes trained on her skin to watch it dissolve. It melted quickly against her skin, leaving behind a kiss of water.

Just as soon as the first disappeared, a second landed in its place. Then, another hit her eyelashes. A fourth found its way to her sleeve, and before she knew it, snow was falling rapidly around her.

Clarke let out an excited cheer and lifted her head to the sky. While snow was something she usually stayed away from, she welcomed it now.

_ The first snow was always so beautiful. _

She turned her palm to the sky, catching countless snowflakes. While the snow melted instantly when it touched her skin, the unique and delicate flakes lasted on her cloak.

Clarke laughed, loud and bright and turned towards the flap of the tent. “Bellamy!” she called, wanting to share this moment with someone. A laugh spilled from her lips. “Bellamy, come here!”

He stepped out from the tent, his own cloak pulled tight around his shoulders. She watched attentively as his face changed with awe.

“It’s snowing!” She couldn’t recall being this happy about snow in a long time. Maybe when she was a child, and snow meant play.

“It’s beautiful.” He stepped out of the tent, his face turning to the sky. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was gorgeous.

Bellamy stretched his hand out, catching a few fluttering flakes before they reached the ground. When he looked at her, his grin was wide and awe-filled.

Clarke stretched her arms wide, her palms to the sky. Filled with pure bliss, she twirled around, her face tipped towards the night sky.

She wasn’t going to take the simple things for granted anymore. She saw demons in the world, more than she’d care to admit, and the idea that nature could produce something so pure and beautiful hit her deeply.

Clarke kept twirling and twirling, letting the snow fall down on her. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair damp, but that didn’t stop her from laughing.

She quickly changed from a twirl to a dance. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her arms moving around her body without purpose. Her face was still turned to the sky, snowflake after snowflake falling on her skin.

Her moves weren’t purposeful nor thought out, but they flowed together. She moved around playfully, as if nobody was watching her. She felt free in that moment, like there wasn’t a worry in the world. 

When she opened her eyes, she noticed Bellamy was watching her dance, a lopsided smile on his face. She paused when they locked eyes and a feeling of adoration filled her.

He was looking at her like she hung the stars in the sky, and it made her cheeks flush for an entirely different reason than earlier. 

Bellamy Blake was beyond words. She didn’t know when it happened, but she’d slowly fallen for him. He owned a piece of her soul, and was the heart to her head. 

“Come,” she said, her voice whispered. She stretched her hand towards him.

He came to her without questioning why. The snow flakes stuck to his hair, slowly melting away with his body heat. His nose was already red from the cold, despite only being outside for a few moments.

Their hands met and their fingers twined together. He was standing so close to her that she could feel his warmth rolling off him in waves.

Clarke let out a laugh, her head flying back from the force of it. She started to move around, pulling his hand with her.

“What are you—?”

“We’re dancing,” she told him. 

He went along with her movements willingly, a smile starting to creep up on his face. He still wasn’t completely into it though — he was allowing her to tug him along.

“This isn’t dancing,” he told her simply. “This is… uncoordinated movements.”

She laughed and pulled him more. “Come on, live a little,” she teased. 

With that, she twirled under his arm. Her heart skipped a beat when he tugged on her hand, guiding her to follow his own movements. Both of their hands were joined as they jumped around. Clarke’s sides hurt from laughing so much.

She released both of his hands so she can do another wide twirl of her own, basking in the snow. When she made her third rotation, her foot caught on a root and she was sent forward.

Clarke caught herself on Bellamy, her hands digging into his shoulders to steady herself. His own hands had moved to her hips to keep her balanced.

The laugh died in her throat instantaneously.

Even though his hands were under her cloak, her Muggle clothes separate their skin. She still felt the heat from them pouring off, and it lit a different type of warmth inside of her. 

Clarke and Bellamy locked eyes, their cheeks flushed, their chests heaving. Her gaze dipped towards his lips, and the need to capture them with her own grew. His fingers tightened on her hips, digging into them enough to make her have to bit her lip to hide her gasp.

Their eyes met again. His eyes were dark with desire. She was suddenly aware of how close they were and how much she wanted him.

“Clarke,” he breathed her name, sending a chill up her spine. The goosebumps that sprung up along her body had nothing to do with the snow falling around them, and everything to do with his fingertips brushing against the bare skin below the hem of her shirt.

Then, her lips were on his. 

Her hands tangled into his curls easily, her fingernails gently scratching along his skin. One of his hands remained on her waist, while the other came up to cup the side of her face tenderly.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst.

The kisses were firm, yet sweet, and it felt like she was getting drunk off of them. Her mind felt fuzzy and her legs weak. All she could think about was his lips, and his hands, and his body.

She wanted more of him — needed more of him. Bellamy seemingly felt the same way; his hand tightened along her hips, dragging their cores together. Her moan got trapped between their lips. She could feel his smile against her lips.

“Fuck,” she muttered, her lips still brushing against hers. Her hands roamed down his shoulders and over his chest. “I want you.”

His breath was hot on her face. “I want you, too.”

Then, his teeth were on her lips again. His hand slipped to her thigh and gripped it tightly, electing another moan from her mouth. He hiked it over his hips and she melted flush against his body.

She could feel every inch of him on her, but she needed more. Her hands were under his cloak, tugging at the waist of his pants. Her fingers brushed against his skin of his hips lightly and he jerked against her. 

Her back was pressed flush against a tree now, sending a dozen new sensations through her. The bark was rough against her back and the building ice melted through her clothing, and she shivered in response. Bellamy bit down on her lip and she ground her hips against his.

She tugged at his hair and pressed her lips to his neck. His moan vibrated against her lips when she bit and sucked at his skin, leaving bruises behind. She arched her back off the tree, pressing into him.

Fire was coursing through her, curling around every crevice. Their hands were intense and needy, and she was panting with want.

She didn’t know how they managed to find their way back to the tent. She was so caught up with his lips on hers and the trail of fire that his hands left behind. Her hands were tugging anywhere they could find a hold on; on his curls, along his broad shoulders, against his waist.

Clarke stumbled backwards when her ankles connected with the edge of their mattress. Her hands tightened on Bellamy’s shoulders and she sucked in a sharp gasp, breaking their kiss to do so. He used her distraction to his advantage and swept his mouth lower, pressed a hot kiss to her neck.

Her head fell backwards and her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. His free hand came up to brush the loose strands away from her neck, his mouth never leaving her skin. His teeth grazed against her pulse point and she couldn’t stifle her moan.

It felt like she was on fire, burning in all the right places. Warmth was pooling in her stomach and her heart was pounding in her chest. She was flushed and  _ needy  _ and—

“Fuck.” She tugged sharply on his curls when he bit down at the junction of her neck and shoulder. A small sound came from the back of his throat at the pull.

His fingers hooked under her shirt and dragged up towards her waist, causing her to squirm and shiver. Between his mouth and his hands, it felt like she was spiralling out of control.

She pushed his cloak off of his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. It was quickly followed by his shirt, which she tugged up and over his head in one swift movement. Without anything in the way, her hands roamed the plains of his chest, gliding over toned muscles and scars.

He let out a sigh at the contact. Her lips turned up at the corners, a smug feeling hitting her briefly. When their eyes locked, a different type of warmth filled her. A softer, warmer, gentler heat — one that she only ever felt with him.

Moments later, her shirt was joining his on the floor, leaving them both standing in only pants. The tops of her breasts were visible over her bra. She studied him closely, her lip between her teeth, as his eyes raked over her body. While this wasn’t the first time he’d seen her like this, he viewed her like a man discovering the stars.

“You’re so beautiful, Clarke.”

She let out a breathless laugh, the air fogging in front of her lips. Goosebumps erupted across her body from the chill in the air, but she had no intention of getting dressed. With the radio off and the wards up, they weren’t going to get interrupted tonight.

Her lips pressed against his, firmer now, and slower. She tasted him along her tongue, even when they broke apart for air, and she couldn’t get enough. Her teeth tugged along his bottom lip, and his strangled moans filled the space of the tent.

_ Fuck,  _ she didn’t know how either of them showed restraint. All she wanted to do was feel him push inside of her, but the process was so drawn out that it drove her wild.

His hands roamed across her body, exploring the curves that were only faintly familiar. Her breath kept getting caught in her throat and she fought to remember how to breathe. 

“Bell,” she hissed, his name tumbling from her lips.

Then, they moved backwards onto the mattress behind her, his arm around her back to keep her steady. His curls fell across his forehead, shielding his eyes from the moonlight streaming through the fabric of the tent.

For a moment, they paused, the only sounds coming from their harsh breaths. She studied his face, marvelling at the freckles dotting his cheeks and all the colours housed in his irises. His eyes were intense on her, seemingly looking into her soul.

She wanted to bare all of herself to him — mind, heart, soul, body. She wanted each piece of her to belong to him.  _ She wanted to share each part with him. _

Clarke grabbed her wand from the pocket of her discarded cloak and cast a contraceptive charm. He watched her intently, and the depth to his gaze made her flush.  _ Fuck,  _ he was beautiful.

Her bra was next to go, quickly followed by both of their pants and underwear. When his mouth swept along the curve of her breast, her nails bit into his shoulders and her back arched off the bed.

Bellamy glanced at her, his head lower than hers and he has the audacity to look  _ cheeky.  _ Here she was, withering away under him, and he looked smug.

“Fuck you,” she breathed, her own mouth tugging into a smirk.

His lips pressed against hers. She was half expecting a lame retort like  _ “you will,”  _ but nothing came, with the exception of her name mixed in with a sigh. 

His hand dipped lower, his fingers brushing against the inside of her thigh. Her breathing hitched as his fingers brushed continued to explore her body, pressing against the exact spots she felt heat gathering at.

His lips were against her jaw, his breath coming out in small pants. She was squirming with anticipation on the mattress beneath his body, her lips between her teeth again. She felt flushed all over as his fingers explored her body.

_ Fuck,  _ but his hands weren’t enough. All she wanted was  _ him _ .

“Bellamy,” she hissed, managing to speak through the waves of pleasure. “ _ You.  _ I want you.”

His hand disappeared and he pressed an open kiss to her mouth. Her hands were latched onto his biceps as he shifted over top of her. “Are you sure?” he prompted, his voice hoarse. 

She moved forward, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss. When she parted, her lips ghosted against his. “Yes.”

With that, he moved a few inches up and guided himself to line up with her. Then, slowly, he sank into her, and she gasped sharply at the new sensation. Her eyes closed with pleasure, her breath trapped in her lungs. When he pushed himself completely inside of her, her let out a sigh. Her breath washed over his own face when she managed to remind herself to breathe.

Her eyes fluttered open and their gazes met. Bellamy’s head dropped the remaining inches, resting his forehead against hers. It was a tender moment, one that was filled with sweetness instead of heat and desire. With their limbs tangled together and their faces inches away from each other, she couldn’t recall anything more intimate in her life.

A long beat passed, although she was sure it was only long because of the need growing inside her. She shifted her hips, allowing him to sink in further, and a moan got trapped at the back of his throat. His eyes fluttered closed and jaw slackened.

_ That  _ was enough to break whatever restraint they were holding on to.

Bellamy pulled out, only to immediately push back in to her slowly, and she moaned. When he moved back into her again, his movements became steadier and more sure. She tugged at his hair, pulling his mouth to hers for a wobbly kiss.

“Bellamy,” she hissed, her voice already sounding wrecked. His expression was the hottest thing she’d ever seen, all the way from the intensity in his eyes, to his parted lips, to the flush across his cheeks. 

They continued to move against each other, settling into a steady rhythm. The space of the tent filled with their harsh pants and moans. His name fell from her lips over and over.

Her skin was slick with sweat despite the chill outside. His hands glided up and along her torso, her fingers digging perfectly into her sides. Her own nails dug into the skin along the back of his shoulder, drawing a new string of curses from him.

Feeling him moving inside of her was causing her mind to short-circuit. All she could think of was his body against hers, and the pleasure pooling inside of her, and the fire in her veins.

“Bell,” she groaned, shifting her body underneath him. The new angle of his thrusts sent a flood of new sensations up her spine. Her fingers clenched and she moaned loudly.

“Fuck.” He must’ve felt the shift too, as his head dipped forward to hang between his shoulders and he began to thrust a little harder. Every thrust tightened a coil in her stomach, and—

_ Fuck, _ she was close.

Almost as if he could sense this, he guided her leg over his hips, deepening his thrusts. She felt engulfed with warmth after this, like she was on fire  _ everywhere.  _ Her fingers dug into the blanket below her, pulling desperately. They were both growing louder as they got closer and closer to the edge. 

“Clarke,” he hissed, and she almost came undone from the tenderness in his voice. His thrusts were growing more erratic and she withered under him, both of them chasing release.

Their eyes locked at the same time he thrust deeply into her, and she tipped over the edge, plummeting straight over. His name was a cry from her lips, and nothing ever tasted sweeter than that moment. A few sharp jerks of his hips later, and Bellamy was falling with her, her name coming out as a moan. 

His nose pressed against her neck as they came down, his lips peppering quick kisses to the flushed skin. Her hands remained buried in his hair, her fingers brushing through the curls.

After a long moment, he collapsed on the mattress beside her, his arm draped across her torso. Their chests heaved and hearts raced. She felt so content, so blissful, so  _ good.  _ A hum of pleasure escaped her after several seconds pass.

“Did you like it?” he asked, his nose pressing against her temple. She cracked an eye open sleepily, looking at him through hooded eyes.

“It’s almost unfair how good you are at everything,” she teased, her voice still breathless. “Although, I guess it’s in my benefit this time.” His lips were soft against her own, sweeter and slower than before. “What about you?”

“That was amazing.” He tugged her into his side. “You’re amazing.” She grinned with the compliment, butterflies erupting in her stomach. 

That night, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS:** explicit sexual content. If you aren’t comfortable reading this, please skip over the last scene of this chapter/contact me on Tumblr!!  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> It’s the most wonderful time of the year! The [Bellarke Fanwork Awards](https://bfwa.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr have began taking nominations. I adore this event because it shows love and appreciation to fic writers in the fandom! It’s so special, so, please, go nominate your favourite fics! **Go spread some love and appreciation to your favourite fics, and if that includes this fic (or any of my fics!!!!) this is my v. early expression of gratitude!** I hope everyone who participates has fun with this event!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated. I will adore you if you leave me your thoughts for this chapter because it’s ya gurls first smut scene, and I’m hoping I pulled it off!? High-key EXTREMELY nervous so send me your good thoughts!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Paw


	21. Chapter 20: New Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew sorry for the wait!!
> 
> Warnings: this chapter feature (minimal) sexual content, and characters getting sick.
> 
> Enjoy.

**_CLARKE_ **

_ December 24, 1997 _

* * *

The next morning, Clarke woke up before Bellamy. 

She rolled over and smirked when his arm tightened around her waist. The blanket was lifted high around both of their bodies, keeping the chill off of their naked forms. She idly wondered how much snow had fallen during the night.

Clarke studied his face, a warm feeling growing in her chest. It was different from the warmth the night before — the warmth of desire — it was softer.

He looked so peaceful in his sleep, and she realized just how gifted they were over the last month. At Kane’s, he was always tense, always ready to fight. Sleep had been the only time he would’ve looked this peaceful. 

Now that they’d been away from the war for so long, he looked at ease more and more. Catching him asleep wasn’t the only opportunity she had to see him this relaxed and at peace.

Her hand moved on its own accord. Her fingers brushed against his jaw and up to his curls. She marvelled at the freckles along his cheeks and the boldness of his lips.

He was gorgeous.

Her eyes drifted to his chest, which still looked raw from the wounds. They were healed more than before, but she knew they still hurt. 

Her head dipped down and she placed a delicate kiss on his chest, over one of the fully healed scars. He stirred underneath her, his arms tightening on her hips.

Her eyes closed and her bottom teeth found its way to between her lips. The memory of him gripping her hips from the night before came to mind easily.

The soft warmth was quickly turning into something more.

Clarke dragged her fingertip along his chest. Warmth pooled in her stomach.

“This is a welcome surprise,” Bellamy said, his voice gruff with sleep. He caught her eyes with his. “Good morning.”

She shifted beside him, moving on top of him. His eyes seemed to grow darker and his arms pulled her tighter.

“Morning.” She grinned coyly at him.

They didn’t get out of bed for a while that day.

* * *

_ December 25, 1997 _

Clarke’s sides hurt from laughing so much. Bellamy was attempting to transfigure leaves and twigs into Christmas decorations, and the results were hilarious.

“I’m doing a good job,” he argued, lifting up the half-star-half-pine cone. 

Clarke could barely speak. “You’re right,” she said. “That’s  _ almost  _ good enough to be the tree topper.”

Only hours before this, Clarke realized it was Christmas. It was hard to keep track of the days while on the run, and the thought hit her hard.

This was the first Christmas they’d both be spending without their families and friends.

Her whole life, Clarke has spent Christmas at home or at Hogwarts. Winter meant fancy balls and stuffy outfits and fake people. To Bellamy, Christmas had a whole different meaning to it. It meant family, and warmth, and being together. 

She never really understood the big production around Christmas, but the way Bellamy spoke about it made her heart melt. 

Bellamy continued to work on the pine cone, while she focused on a leaf in her lap. Her wand was pointed at it and she tried to transfigure it into an ornament. The image of a red, shining ball came to mind, and she tried to get her magic to cooperate.

She managed to change a few leaves into ornaments before she snuck a glance at Bellamy. This was going to be his first Christmas away from his family. His mother died, his sister was lost, his friends were gone.

_ They were all they had. _

.

The moon was hidden by a thick layer of clouds, engulfing the world around them in darkness. The night was relatively silent — she couldn’t hear the movement of animals or the rattle of the wind — but that may be due to the fact she was tipsy and focused on what was happening in the tent.

The radio was propped up on the table and playing an unfamiliar Muggle song. Bellamy said it was a song by Mariah Carey, a Muggle artist, and that had been good enough for her. Muggles had different tastes in movies and music.

_ Different was good. _

“You’re  _ not  _ serious,” Clarke gasped, her sides aching from laughter. It felt like she had been laughing all day. Christmas was putting both of them in a good mood. “I can’t believe—”

“Yeah, well.” Bellamy took a long sip from the bottle of Muggle alcohol he picked up from town. His cheeks were flushed and his grin goofy. His carefree appearance made her chest warm and her stomach come alight with butterflies.

“You could’ve been hurt,” she pointed out. “I can’t believe Hooch let you practice those moves on a broom. They’re usually reserved for professional Quidditch players!”

Bellamy passed her the bottle. His grin was coy.

“Who said anything about being allowed to practice them?” Clarke snorted. “Listen, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission sometimes. I thought you, a Slytherin, would know that.”

“Leave it to a Gryffindor to be reckless enough to even attempt those moves,” she countered. “You could’ve broke your neck.” 

She could imagine Bellamy practicing professional Quidditch moves on his broom on the pitch. It was such a  _ Bellamy  _ thing to do. They weren’t allowed to do certain rolls and maneuvers on the broom in their league, but  _ of course,  _ he’d bend the rules.

“Anyone can break their neck,” he pointed out. It wasn’t funny, but Clarke couldn’t help but laugh. It was true. Quidditch was a dangerous sport, regardless of the tricks done while flying. “Besides, I was determined to beat those pesky Slytherin.”

“Ah, yes, those assholes,” she agreed. “They were always showing your team up, weren’t they? Talented gits — you had to turn to illegal—  _ hey!” _ Bellamy threw a pillow at her head and they both descended into giggles. “I bet their Quidditch Captain was a hottie.”

“I can’t deny that one.”

Clarke handed him the bottle of whiskey and flopped back onto the mattress. She paid closer attention to the lyrics of the song.

“How romantic,” she observed, the corners of her mouth turning up. “All she wants for Christmas is you, Blake.” Bellamy fell back onto the mattress beside her smirking. The song continued to play and she studied the ceiling of the tent. “We need mistletoe.”

“What?”

Clarke sat up. “We should get some mistletoe. That’s romantic, isn’t it?”

Bellamy mirrored her actions. “Griffin, I thought I told you before. You don’t need an excuse to kiss me.”

_ Fuck,  _ it felt like his words snatched the breath from her lungs. She remembered when he spoke those exact words to her, all those weeks ago. Things had been so different back then; with both of them cooking dinner and shamelessly flirting, trying to find a balance between friendship and strangers.

Unlike last time, Clarke surged forward, capturing his lips with her own. The lines of his face were familiar under her palms, yet their kisses still left her dizzy. His own hand cupped her cheeks, and a tenderness filled her heart.

When they parted, a different song was playing on the radio. She recognized this one, as she often did with classical music. The instruments weaved together, creating a melody that flowed like water in a stream. It was beautiful.

Clarke stood, her hand extended towards him. She lifted her eyebrows in challenge. “Now’s your chance to dance with that  _ very  _ good looking Quidditch Captain, Blake. Don’t waste your opportunity.”

He took her hand and stood in front of her. “Waste it? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They moved together, settling into the distantly familiar dancing positions they learned for the Yule Ball. Their joined hands rested comfortably at chest level and she melted into his arms. It wasn’t like the Yule Ball, which involved spins and coordinated steps — it was slower and calmer. If anything, it was more of a sway than a dance.

Clarke remembered spending the night dancing with her girlfriend from Durmstrang Institute that evening, and she wondered who Bellamy took.

“She was from Durmstrang,” he replied, his voice soft. “Our friends set us up, since we were the only two going alone. She was intimidating — nice, I guess — but scary.”

Clarke rested her head against his chest. She could hear the steady beats of his heart under her ear and feel the warmth of his body against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“I think they’re all intimidating from that school,” she mumbled. “My girlfriend was intense, too.”

Clarke tried to imagine what he wore to the ball. The closest thing to a traditional wizarding robe she ever saw him wearing would be his Hogwarts uniform, or maybe the cloak that he wore in Knockturn Alley. It was easier to imagine him in Muggle clothing than wizarding.

“That was so long ago,” Bellamy said, voicing her thoughts. “Before You-Know-Who came back. Before Diggory died. Before the war started.” Clarke remained silent, too content to speak. 

It was a while before either of them spoke next.

“Your dress was blue,” he said, his lips inches away from the top of her head. “I remember when you first walked in the Great Hall. I saw you, and your dress, and I couldn’t look away. You walked straight up to Zabini and Parkinson, and I just remember being so annoyed with you.”

Clarke grinned. That sounded about right.

“You saw me that night?”

“Merlin, Clarke, you were always on my mind, even when I hated you. I was always trying to one-up you.”

It was funny, in a way; she viewed him the same way back then. He would often be on her mind; she’d think of beating him in Quidditch, she’d try to push his buttons in the hallways, she was always planning different ways to annoy him.

She took their rivalry very seriously, and so did he, apparently.

They both fell silent after that. The song changed several times, but neither of them pulled away from each other. Clarke was perfectly content to spend the rest of the night dancing with him. It was intimate in a different way than sex — it was softer, and reminded her of the brief feeling she got when she first woke up in the mornings and realized his arms were around her.

She could feel the beat of his heart in his chest and warmth radiating from his soul.  _ Warm  _ was such a Bellamy thing. He reminded her of the sun; warm in every way possible, a brightness in the dark. He was like honey on her tongue, and reminded her of sunflowers blowing in the wind.

Clarke felt strong with him around, and he continuously encouraged her to be the best version of herself. He saw the good in people, and his outlook on life made her believe that things would turn out okay.

Bellamy was compassionate and understanding. He made her feel less alone when, by all means, she should’ve felt more alone than ever. 

_ He was so much more than that though. _

He was hilarious and kind. She loved the way his eyes lit up when he spoke about something he loved. She’d never grow tired of his smile, or his laugh, or his lame jokes. He was passionate and felt deeply and  _ warm.  _ He cared so much about the people he loved, and he demonstrated over and over that he’d do anything for them. 

Merlin, Bellamy was a good man — a better man than she ever gave him credit for. 

Fuck.

_ She loved him. _

The thought hit her hard. As soon as she put a name to the feelings that had risen in her chest weeks ago, she was more sure than ever.

She was in love with Bellamy.

She had never loved anyone before; she’d never trusted anyone like she trusted him. She always expected to be terrified when she fell in love, but she wasn’t.  _ She knew him.  _ She knew her feelings weren’t misplaced.

He was her home.

Clarke pulled him a little closer as they swayed. Her throat felt tight and her heart ached from emotion.

She was so sure of her feelings — so sure that she loved him — but she remained silent.

_ Not yet,  _ she told herself. She didn’t know why she was holding back.  _ Tomorrow. _

Yes. She’d tell him tomorrow.

* * *

Tomorrow came and went.

She didn’t tell him.

Clarke thought about it often.  _ How did she knew this was love? _

She wasn’t confusing her feelings for anything else either.  _ She knew.  _ This wasn’t something that scraped the surface, like a crush. It wasn’t just lust either; it was deeper than that, softer than that.

It was love.

She didn’t love him for the way he looked at her, nor did she love him for the way he made her heart race. She didn’t love him because he made her happy, nor because he made her feel less alone.

She loved him for the way his forehead would crease in thought. She loved him because of the fire in his soul. She loved him for the way he looked at the world, for the way he fought for what was right. She loved him for his passion and his determination and for everything in between.

Still, she didn’t tell him.

_ After,  _ she told herself.  _ After we are back home with the others. After we’re back to normal. _

* * *

_ December 27, 1997 _

Bellamy was a nerd.

They were laying together outside the tent beside the fire. The ground was cold under her back, but Bellamy was right earlier  — being cold beat being wet.

“That’s Perseus,” he told her, pointing to a cluster of stars to the side. “He was a Greek hero. He’s most well known for his quest to retrieve Medusa’s head—”

“Woah,” Clarke cut him off. “That’s fucked up.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Please. Don’t get me started about Medusa and how  _ fucked up her entire portrayal in mythology is,  _ because I will go on—”

_ Forever. _

He went on forever.

Clarke loved every second of it though. She loved watching his face as he talked about the stars and the Muggle mythology that went with it. He was passionate about it, she could tell by the way he spoke.

It was nice. She wished this night could have lasted forever.

* * *

Clarke was trying to pretend everything was okay.

It wasn’t.

With each day that passed, they were getting closer and closer to proceeding with their plan. The potion was nearly complete and their plans tentatively in place, yet—

She didn’t feel ready.

They were about to break into one of the most protected places in the wizarding world. The only other place that she could think of that was more protected was Gringotts, and nobody could ever break in there and escape with their life.

With each tick of the clock, she felt the bubble they were living in straining. She knew it was only a matter of time until it popped.

* * *

_ December 30, 1997 _

The potion was going to be ready in a few days.

It was going to be ready in three days, to be exact. After the first part of the potion brewed for nearly a month, they’d be adding the remaining ingredients in a few days, and that would be that. They could put their plan into action and finally get back to the Order safe house system.

Over the course of the month, they slowly built the details of the plan. They’d both take the Polyjuice Potion and sneak into Hogwarts while majority of the students were home on break. They’d apparate to Hogsmeade and walk the rest of the way into the school grounds, hopefully not encountering any Death Eaters along the way. If they did encounter a Death Eater, they had plans and backup plans for that.

She’d be transforming into her mother though, and Clarke doubted anyone would try to cause trouble with Abby Griffin. If she played the part properly, most people would be too intimidated to talk to her, never mind call her out on suspicious behaviour.

They’d make their way to McGonagall's office, prove their identities, and get a location for an Order safe house. They’d floo from her office to Diagon Alley, then apparate to the next location. 

It was a good plan. A solid plan. A plan that wouldn’t get fucked up — and, even if it did, she was confident they’d be able to work it out.

The only thing they were missing was the final ingredient for the Polyjuice Potion. They had Lacewing flies, bicorn horn, knotgrass, boomslang skin, leeches, and fluxweed — all the ingredients having been picked up on their disastrous Knockturn Alley trip.

Still, one remained.

They still needed to find pieces of the person they intended to turn into. Without that, they wouldn’t be able to complete the potion, and their plan would go up in flames.

Bellamy’s was easy. He swiped a few strands of hair from Muggles when he last went there to pick up the radio, and they’d transfigure a few features in addition. 

Clarke’s was much more difficult.

Their plan worked best if she was going as Abby Griffin, and Clarke’s couldn’t very well walk back home to steal some of her mother’s hair. If her mother saw her, Clarke knew she’d never be able to escape again. She also hadn’t been home in months, which meant any hair that might’ve been stuck to her cloak had already disappeared.

The solution was tricky, but their only option.

Advanced summoning. 

The procedure was outlined in the Kane’s charms textbook. The incantation and wand movements were identical to the common summoning spell, but the text provided more detail on how to apply it differently.

The witch or wizard had to be familiar with the object they wanted to summon, otherwise it wouldn’t work. If they had the object in mind when they cast the spell, the object could instantaneously travel from anywhere in the world to their side.

She kicked Bellamy out of the tent what felt like hours ago. She needed to concentrate, and she couldn’t do that with him watching her every move.

Clarke was quickly getting frustrated. She was trying to summon her favourite jumper from Griffin Manor, but it wasn’t working. Clarke didn’t even know if stands of her mother’s hair would be on her jumper, and that doubt was throwing off her performance.

She focused on the feel of the wool against her skin. How the fabric would leave behind indents on her arms when she pushed up the sleeves. How there was a snag on the right side of the torso that she got from a nail in the Quidditch shed. How the fabric would make her hair stand up with static if she pulled it over her head in the winter. How the collar would feel suffocating the first time she wore it during the season, having spent all summer free of high collars and stuffy shirts. How—

Clarke gasped as the jumper materialized in her hands. The fabric was familiar and caught on her hands. Just to be sure it was  _ her  _ jumper, she checked the side. Sure enough, one of the threads was snagged and hanging sadly.

“It worked!” She couldn’t keep the pride from her voice as she called to Bellamy. Merlin, she couldn’t believe that she did that! It only took her a few hours and one frustrated cry, but it worked!

Bellamy re-entered the tent smiling. “I told you that you could do it!” He planted a swift kiss to the top of her head. “You’re brilliant.”

Her eyes swept over the fabric of the jumper. She could see a few strands of her blonde hair along the collar of the shirt, seemingly woven in with the fabric. And, along the sleeves, she could see a few darker strands of hair.

“Got it,” she murmured. 

Her mother’s hair.

With the final ingredient of the potion being found, Clarke felt a weight settle across her.

_ It was happening. _

They were really about to break into Hogwarts.

* * *

_ December 31, 1997 _

They celebrated 1997 turning into 1998 together.

They were listening to the Muggle radio, the bottle of whiskey being passed between the two of them again. Clarke never experienced a Muggle New Year celebration, and Bellamy had to explain the majority of traditions.

“And, in New York — that’s in America — a giant ball drops the moment the clocks hit midnight.”

Clarke was confused. “But… why?”

“I don’t know.” He took a swig of the liquor. “London does fireworks, as does a lot of other places in the world. I used to love watching as many news programs as possible to see all the fireworks from across the world. With time zones, I could catch a handful of firework displays before falling asleep.”

“What did your family do to celebrate?” Clarke asked. “You didn’t set off fireworks yourself, did you?”

“No, we usually just watched them.” Bellamy was smiling widely as he spoke. “We all sit and watch the news together. When the countdown happens, we all stand together, waiting. And, when the year changes, one of us opens the front door to welcome in the new year, while another one of us opens the back door to let the old year out.”

Clarke laughed. “What!?”

“I’m not kidding!” He was laughing too. When he said it out loud, it sounded like a ridiculous thing. “It’s for good fortune for the year! We wouldn’t want our house to be trapped in the past.”

“That’s very unique,” she complimented. “What else?”

“Well, my family doesn’t do much else, but Muggles have the general tradition of kissing someone at midnight. It’s very popular, actually.”

It wasn’t too long after that did the radio show hosts speak a little louder, announcing midnight was only a minute away. 

They locked eyes. Clarke felt like a child again, experiencing the wonder of a new holiday for the first time. Seeing how excited Bellamy was made her excited, too. The promise of  _ this  _ being a turning point for a new year — a better year — made her feel hopeful.

“To 1998 being better than ‘97,” he said at last.

“To this year being better than the last,” she agreed.

“And, even though ’97 was shit, it… It wasn’t all bad.” 

“No?”

“No. I met you.”

They were already kissing by the time the clocks hit midnight. She couldn’t imagine a better way to ring in the new year than by kissing the man she loved.

Bellamy jumped up and raced to the flaps of the tent. Clarke watched with interest as he dramatically opened them and greeted the new year like it was an old friend.

She was wrong earlier.

Clarke couldn’t imagine a better way to ring in the new year than by laughing alongside the man she loved.

* * *

_ January 3, 1998 _

Bellamy Blake had terrible timing.

One day before their planned infiltration into Hogwarts, he got sick.

_ Really sick. _

Bellamy was laying on their bed, the blanket pulled up to his chin, and face twisted. The blood had drained his face, leaving him ghostly looking, and his curls clung to his skin from the thin layer of sweat. Not only did he  _ look  _ sick, but he was miserable too. He was groaning and had a fever.

It was awful to watch and not be able to do anything.

“You need a Pepperup Potion,” Clarke said, her voice soft in hopes of not disturbing him. Bellamy mumbled something under his breath, but didn’t open his eyes to look at her. He wasn’t asleep — she could tell from his breathing — but he wasn’t aware of the surroundings.

She sat beside him on the mattress, close enough that she could reach out and touch him, but not enough to crowd him. Clarke brushed her hand over his forehead, moving some of his hair from his face. Her heart ached for him. She never wanted to see him in pain, and this was extreme.

Clarke didn’t know what to do. Whenever she got sick, she’d take a few potions and sleep it off. Magic could solve a lot of things, illnesses included.

“What do Muggles do?” she wondered. They didn’t have any ingredients to make any more potions and she couldn’t run to a store to buy a pre-made potion. She knew Muggles got sick and healed themselves, but it was an art that she didn’t know anything about.

“Medicine.” Bellamy’s voice was weak, but it made her heart leap. It looked like it took a lot of energy for him to speak, and these were some of the first words he had managed to get out since he started throwing up. “Chemicals.”

Clarke wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound helpful.” Although, she couldn’t exactly judge. She did just mix flies and bicorn horns together to become a potion that will change her body into her mother’s. She reached forward and brushed her hand against his forehead again. It was burning. “What can I do to help?”

“You’re doing it.” He managed a weak smile. She tucked his hair behind his ear and smiled back. Only a few seconds later, she saw his face twist and he quickly shifted to his side, getting sick for the countless time that day.

She kept a hand on his back as he continued to get sick, unsure of what to do to make him feel better.

She felt useless. She couldn’t do anything to help him, and it was frustrating. All she wanted to do was ease all of his pain and burdens.

She brushed her hand through his hair as he continued to get sick.

.

Clarke was sitting at their table, pouring over the last details of their plans. She wanted to make sure everything was in place. They didn’t have room to mess up.

If they did, they would die.

The potion was almost ready. All the ingredients were added and hairs collected. Tomorrow, all they had to do was add the required hair in when they were ready to leave tomorrow. As soon as they did that, they’d be transformed for just over an hour.

_ Tomorrow.  _

They were breaking into Hogwarts tomorrow.

She turned her gaze towards the mattress at the front of the tent, where Bellamy was fast asleep. 

_ They.  _

Their plan for tomorrow was meant for both of them, but he was in no shape to fight.

They could postpone it a few days, couldn’t they?

No, they couldn’t. 

This couldn’t wait until Bellamy was better, even just a day or two more. Tomorrow was the Sunday before the winter term of school started up again, which meant tomorrow was the last day where the castle was fairly empty. 

It had to be tomorrow. They had no other option.

Fuck. She pressed her fingers to her forehead in concentration. 

She had to think this through. Him being sick wasn’t part of their plan, obviously, and it threw things off.

He was too sick to stand, never mind hold a wand and pretend to be a Death Eater. She doubted he could perform any magic like this, and that was the easiest task out of tomorrow.

They’d be entering a school full of Death Eaters. She’d be dressed as Griffin, which was sure to draw a lot of attention.

They’d have to be ready for anything to go wrong. They would be walking into the wolf den. Their Polyjuice Potion could fail. Others might be suspicious. They had to be prepared to fight their way out of the school. 

She glanced at Bellamy again, the reality of the situation sinking in.

_ He couldn’t come.  _

It was too dangerous. Too many things could go wrong even if he was in perfect health, and now that he wasn’t, it was an extra risk to bring him.

He wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t agree with her choice. He’d do anything that he could to go with her, just as she would with him if their positions were reversed. She’d want to go and keep him safe, no matter what. 

Clarke swore under her breath and turned back to her notes. She was set in her decision — Bellamy couldn’t come. It was in the best interest of everyone; he wouldn’t be put in danger, she wouldn’t be worried about him throwing up as they wandered the castle, they wouldn’t be put at extra risk, and she wouldn’t have to worry about him not being able to defend himself.

She didn’t know how she’d break the news to him.

She could see the conversation playing out already. As soon as she told him that he couldn’t go, he’d be upset and argue against her. He was a bloody Gryffindor, through and through, and she knew he’d want to be on the front lines of the action, no matter what. He wouldn’t want to sit in the tent, waiting for her to return, feeling useless.

She wouldn’t let up. She was firm on her decision. Bellamy wouldn’t give either, and that would only result in them arguing until they were both too flustered and exhausted to go. The plan would fail.

Clarke glanced at Bellamy, her lip between her teeth. Another plan came to mind, one that would keep him safe, but came with dire consequences.

She didn’t have another option though.

Merlin, he was going to hate her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been busy for fic outside of Paint me in Trust. I also discovered I wrote over 50k of fic in September already, and it’s only the 17th! Wild!
> 
> Re: [Bellarke Fanwork Awards](https://bfwa.tumblr.com/) (that I mentioned last chapter):  
> -This fic has been nominated!! Thank you SO much to everyone who nominated it/me. Such a cool feeling and I’m so grateful.  
> -The categories this fic has been nominated in are: Modern WIP, Angst WIP, Fluff WIP, Smut WIP, and Bed Sharing. & I was also nominated in the Best Author category. This is a HUGE thank you to those of you who have read, enjoyed, nominated, and voted.  
> -Round 1 voting has come and gone, and I’ll keep you posted to see if this fic has progressed onto round 2!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!  
> Paw  
> [ Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


	22. Chapter 21: A Great Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This only took me forever to write.
> 
> Autumn and I have a complicated relationship, where I never feel inspired to write during it. BUT, I was hit with a bunch of inspiration today and wrote this 7.5k word chapter. Hopefully the length makes up for the long wait!!
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ January 4, 1998 _

* * *

Clarke woke extremely early that day. The sky was dark and the birds silent when she climbed out of bed. She felt groggy from lack of sleep — after all, she only went to bed a couple of hours ago.

She glanced over her shoulder as she climbed out of bed, watching Bellamy carefully. His breathing remained deep and rhythmic, and she relaxed. He was still in a deep sleep.

Clarke busied herself. She didn’t have a lot of time before he woke up, and she had a lot to prepare.

The first thing she did was transfigure her cloak into one of the things she feared the most. She had spent enough time around the long black cloaks of Death Eaters that she knew every gathering of fabric and every stitch. By the time she had finished, the cloak was an exact replica of her mother’s.

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and she knew Bellamy would be stirring soon. She stripped off her own clothing and picked up the half-glass of lumpy potion. After she added her mother’s hair, it turned dark brown and thick. Looking at it made her gag.

Bellamy shifted on the mattress. She downed the potion without a second thought.

The burning was intense, but it only lasted a few seconds. She felt her skin ripple and shift. Her teeth moved around her mouth, her bones grew, her hair thinned. She had to suppress a groan of pain as the potion tore through her.

She always knew Polyjuice Potion was supposed to be painful, and it made sense. She was transforming into a different person with a different appearance. That meant every aspect of her body had to change; it was like every growing pain she ever had manifested in her body, but worse.

While she couldn’t see her new appearance, she knew the potion worked. Her hands were thinner and the skin softer, and the hair that hung in front of her face was brown, not blonde. She quickly braided it, trying to mimic the style that her mother usually wore.

Clarke threw on the transfigured cloak and grabbed Jugson’s wand. It hummed with familiarity and she knew it would answer to her now, as she murdered the previous owner. It was risky to use a new wand while in battle, but she knew her wand would stick out too much.

She quickly scribbled out a note for Bellamy. She hoped he would understand why she did what she did, that he wouldn’t come looking for her at Hogwarts, that he wouldn’t hate her.

With shaking hands, she left the note on top of the radio beside their bed.

It was now or never.

As she left the tent, she glanced over her shoulder, her heart hammering in her chest. Bellamy was still fast asleep.

A numbness filled her. It felt like she was watching her actions from a stranger’s eyes; not quite feeling attached to her own body. She was about to do exactly what Bellamy did to her all those weeks ago, when they argued and he left to get the radio.

_ She was about to abandon him. _

Clarke knew he would be mad. She would be, too, if she was in his position. He’d be waking up expecting to go on a mission with her, only to read her note and find she left without him.

_ I will be back,  _ she told herself, as if that promise made her feel any better.  _ This is for the best. He’s too sick to think straight; he wouldn’t be able to do the mission properly. He’ll be safe. _

That was right.

Even if he hated her after this, at least he’d be safe.

The sky looked like burning embers in the hearth. The clouds looked like tails of rabbits in the sky; large and fluffy. It reminded her of her childhood, when she’d lay on the porch with Greengrass and watch the clouds drift by.

She shook herself. Now wasn’t the time to get sentimental. It wasn’t the time to worry about Bellamy. It wasn’t the time to think back on better times.

She needed to focus.

Clarke lifted her chin high and strode forward, leaving the tent and thoughts of Bellamy behind. She had a mission to accomplish. Their fates in this war were relying solely on her.

It was almost worrying to discover how easy it was to slip into a different persona. She let the woman she had become within the last few months fade away. She pushed down all the love she felt for Bellamy, and all the defiance she had for the war, and all the fire she found within herself. 

She wasn’t Clarke anymore. She was wearing the face of her mother, and she had to become her. She had to become the woman Abby always wanted her to be.

Cold. Determined. Hateful.

Those were all traits she was familiar with. She held her shoulders back and her head high. Her lips pursed the slightest bit and her nose wrinkled, showing her displeasure. She carried herself like she thought she was better than anyone, and — to Abby Griffin — that was the truth.

Clarke was thrown by how  _ comfortable  _ she was in this different persona. Despite fighting against Abby’s lessons internally, Clarke was forced to become this different person for show. For years, she was surrounded by darkness, and being  _ blank  _ and haughty was the only way to survive.

She felt the wards shift as soon as she stepped through them. She imagined the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, a pub that many Hogwarts students frequented. It was the  _ only  _ shop she was familiar with enough to apparate to without risk of getting splinched in the process.

She gripped her wand and twisted, knowing there was no chance of turning back.

.

People were terrified of her.

Clarke appeared in the middle of the Three Broomsticks, scaring an older wizard half to death. He dropped his mug and recoiled sharply, as if she had punched him. Bronze liquid splattered along the front of his robes and dripped down the edge of the table.

She sneered at him. He stood up hastily and began to say something, but she was already brushing past him. She didn’t have time to humor him by pretending to listen to his squabbles.

Her cloak billowed behind her as she navigated around tables and booths. She could feel the eyes of the patrons on her, but she didn’t spare them a glance. Her heart was racing in her chest, just waiting for someone to speak up and see through her disguise, but nobody stood.

She was paranoid. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her fingers twitched with the burning  _ need  _ to hold her wand.

She fought to maintain composure. She’d kept her mask on in high pressure situations before — like once, when she walked in on a group of Death Eaters torturing someone in her dining room, and she had to remain emotionless.

_ This was easy. _

Clarke’s hands were shaking at her sides from nerves, and she decided one glass of fire whiskey wouldn’t hurt anyone. Maybe it wasn’t the most responsible choice, considering she might need to fight her way out of Hogwarts, but she reasoned that she wouldn’t need to do that if she could calm her nerves enough.

The liquid burned down her throat and she caught herself seconds before grimacing. 

_ Play the part. _

The shop would’ve been filthy to her mother. Dust was gathering behind the counter on certain shelves. The bar smelled faintly of yeast and disinfectant — a very unpleasant mix. The cups seemingly had a coating on them, probably not having been washed properly in a long time.

She set the shot glass back down on the countertop and pressed her lips tightly together as she brushed the grime from her hands. Her expression must’ve been more terrifying that she thought it would.

“On the house for you, Madam Griffin,” the shop owner said briskly, bowing her head slightly. Clarke lifted her nose in the air and lifted her eyebrow coldly.

She could feel the effects of the alcohol — a slight buzz filled her mind. It wasn’t enough to make her reckless or to derail her train of thought — but it was enough to settle to worries in her mind and ebb her fears.

Without speaking, Clarke left the shop and started on the journey to the castle. The towers could be seen from the small town, reaching towards the sky like trees in a forest. They were dusted with blankets of snow and she could see owls circling above.

It was snowing. She briefly thought of Bellamy and how he’d like the fresh snow, but quickly pushed him from his mind before he became more than a fleeting thought. She had to think practically right now, and snow wasn’t practical; wet clothes made for a freezing body, and a freezing body meant less conserved energy and slower response time. Beyond that, if she needed to run from the castle, the ice could be lethal.

Clarke pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and swept her eyes back and forth. The closer she got to the castle, the more changes she could see. The town had changed, sure, but she was expecting that based off Diagon Alley.

_ But Hogwarts? _

It was terrifying. Hogwarts used to be so strong, seemingly unbreakable. Even when the years turned dark, Hogwarts was like a beacon of light.

Her thoughts pulled to Bellamy again. Worry was slowly turning into fear, metastasizing in her bones; she was terrified he wouldn’t forgive her for leaving him, or he would come after her, or he would abandon her altogether.

_ Yes. He’ll abandon you for this. When he wakes up and realizes you betrayed the plans, he will do the same to you. _

With each step she took, the thoughts grew louder. 

Doubt, fear, and worry.

Those quickly turned into something more.

_ You’re going to die here,  _ she thought miserably.  _ You’re weak. You cowered behind legs for your whole life, and now what? You think you can pretend to be them? You think you are strong enough to take them on by yourself? _

_ Stupid. I’m so stupid. I should’ve brought Bellamy. _

_ I never should have come. _

_ Yes, that was good. She never should’ve thought of this plan. She never should’ve come on her own. _

_ Why was she here? _

_ Why am I here? _

Clarke shook her head from side to side, trying to pull herself from the abyss growing inside her. Her thoughts felt like a black hole, sucking her in, eating all light inside her.

_ For the Order,  _ she thought, desperately holding onto the threads of hope in her mind.  _ I’m doing this for the Order. I’m doing this to get back and make a difference. This is worthwhile. This is _ —

_ Fuck. What was she thinking?  _ Clarke’s step faltered as a reality crashed down on her. Her lungs felt like lead inside of her.  _ The Order would never accept her. She would never be able to make up for her past mistakes. They wouldn’t look past her crimes. _

_ Stupid. I’m stupid. _

The fear was growing inside of her, making her chest feel like it was caving in. She knew the Order would never accept her, never trust her. She was an outsider. A monster. 

And, even if they did trust her, what could she do? Tell them what tea her mother drank? Tell them the address of her house? Merlin, she didn’t have any information to give them anyways — nothing of importance.

So, why was she trying so hard to get back to the Order? They hated her anyways, and she was useless to them — what was the point? Why was she lying to herself?

Clarke leaned against a tree and gripped her wand. Fuck. She had been lying to herself the whole time. She was pretending to play the part of a good person. She was living a lie. She was—

_ No.  _

She sucked in a quick breath and righted herself.

Something was wrong.

It felt like a fog had descended on her brain, making all of her thoughts hazy. The only  _ true  _ thoughts coming true were ones filled with hate and bitterness. Her fears were screaming in her mind. Her self-doubt was coming through. 

She swallowed thickly. Something was wrong. This wasn’t right. Something was fucking with her mind.

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and shifted through her thoughts.  _ Bellamy. _

He was the first thought to come to mind, the first one that didn’t make her want to flee. She held onto the thought of him. How he made her feel like she belonged. How her sides hurt when they laughed. How he made her feel safe. How he was her home.

It was easier to think. What was happening to her? It was almost like all hope and happiness had been sucked from her soul, leaving behind cursed memories and haunting thoughts. It was almost like—

_ Dementors. _

Clarke glanced towards the sky, a numbness growing inside of her. There, a few trees away, flew dark creatures. Their black cloaks billowed behind them, ice seemingly formed in the air they touched, the trees below them withered with death.

She swallowed thickly. Things began to click into place.

In her third year, she was taught about Dementors due to their presence around the castle. They were dark creatures that sucked hope and light from anyone nearby. They were unrelenting — and would keep sucking and sucking, until they consumed the soul.

Fuck.

The only defence against these creatures was the Patronus charm — the exact charm that Bellamy had been attempting to teach her recently.

(Attempting and failing.)

“Shit,” she breathed. Her knuckles tightened along her wand and she straightened. Without the ability to produce the charm, she would be defenceless. 

_ You’re stupid,  _ she thought.  _ You should’ve brought Bellamy. Of course you should have brought him. He knows the charm. He could’ve helped you. He could’ve _ —

“Been hurt,” she hissed. Her mind was spinning. “He could’ve been hurt.”

She refused to regret leaving Bellamy behind. It was for his own good. Besides, she couldn’t exactly change that decision now — she was in the middle of the forest, surrounded by Dementors, dressed as her mother.

Fuck.

_ The mission.  _ She needed to focus on the mission. She needed to get to Hogwarts, and things would be fine. 

Clarke pushed herself off the three and locked her eyes on the towers of the castle, just beyond the trees. No matter what happened, she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t turn around. She couldn’t let her thoughts sway.

With newfound determination, she began the hike to the castle.

_ Order. Need to get back to the Order. Need to get back to Raven. Raven, and Monty, and Harper, and Kane. Family. Need to get back to family. _

She forced herself to focus on the endgame. Her forehead beaded with sweat as she walked closer and closer to the castle from the energy needed to keep her thoughts off of despair caused by Dementors.

Every step she took, the harder it was to keep moving, to keep focused. Her thoughts swirled. Her legs shook. Her stomach rolled. She had every reason to give up on her mind. Ignoring that was like swimming upstream.

She could see the gates of Hogwarts approaching through the thinning trees. Posted on either side were Death Eaters — both clad in black robes and wands at the ready.

Clarke tripped over her feet, but caught herself before she could fall to the ground. She swore under her breath.

_ This was it. _

She couldn’t fuck up now.

She couldn’t fuck up.

_ Everything  _ was resting on her.

Clarke tried to slip back into the persona she constructed when she was younger — the same one she used at Hogsmeade only moments ago.

Cold. Detached. Haughty. Annoyed.

She remembered how the cold gaze of her mother would settle on her if she stepped out of line — one that was disapproving and judgemental — a look that would make her heart drop to her feet without her saying a word. She remembered how her mother’s lips would curl when someone crossed her.

She remembered herself, too, and how she was taught to never lower her chin, never to let her emotions show, never let her shoulders slouch. She was taught to be a puppet; easily controlled, always detached.

Maybe she had been a puppet before, when she was younger, but she wasn’t one now.  _ She  _ was in control now — a terrifying and liberating thought. These were her actions and decisions. She was controlling her mother now, and it sent a surge of confidence through her.

The closer she got to the Death Eaters posted outside the castle, the more the chill from the Dementors seemed to fade. Her thoughts were becoming clearer. Walking became easier. She just hoped she didn’t look as exhausted as she felt.

While she was still too far away to recognize the Death Eaters posted outside the castle, they must’ve recognized her. Abby Griffin, after all, was someone that stroke fear inside the people she crossed, and that was an impression that didn’t fade easily.

“Madame Griffin!” one of the Death Eaters welcomed her as soon as she was in ear-shot. His voice shook, giving away his fear.

He was younger than what she expected. A new recruit? Of course. Her fucking luck.

Clarke narrowed her eyes and glanced sideways at the man. He looked much older than she remembered him being, but the blackness of his eyes were unmistakable. He’d gone to Hogwarts with her when she was merely a first year.

“Richards, is it?” Her voice was hot. His nod was jerky and eyes wide. Her eyes swept to the other Death Eater who hung back by the gate. “And Stewart.” 

“We— We weren’t expecting you today!” Richards, the younger of the two, spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting to see both of you either, so it seems we are both in an unfortunate situation.” Her eyes were cold as she examined him. “I was hoping to be welcomed by someone…  _ else. _ ”

“Welcomed?” He was still flustered, but less so than a moment before. Clarke arched her eyebrow. Her expression must’ve had the effect she was hoping for; Richards paled a few shades. “Madam Griffin, we— you— I— you—”

“Spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

“We’re under instruction not to let anyone into the castle,” he finished hastily. He looked like saying those words were making him ill. His jaw rippled with determination. Clarke swore mentally. Of course, she’d get the shift where  _ keeners  _ were at the gates. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She didn’t respond as quickly as she hoped, too caught off guard. When she did manage to speak, she stumbled over her words, which was somehow even worse than not speaking at all. She looked and sounded like she was a blubbering child.

(Which, for all intents and purposes, she was.)

“You are telling  _ me  _ that you will not let me in?” she snapped. Clarke thought of how angry her mother would’ve been to be questioned, to be stopped. She was Abby Griffin, for fuck sake, and a new recruit was going to stop her from getting to where she wanted to go?

“I—”

She sneered. “You think you can question me?” Clarke strode forward, her movements fluid and filled with rage. If she stopped to think, it would’ve been almost frightening how easily the rage and superiority came to her. It was like slipping on an old glove. “Do you know who I am, Richards?”

“You—”

“ _ You  _ need to learn some fucking respect.” She was inches away from the older boy now, and she was impressed he was standing his ground. Her pulse was thundering against her neck — from fear, from adrenaline, from anger. “You think you can tell me what to do? You — an absolute  _ nothing  _ — telling me that I cannot go meet with a longtime friend?”

“What, I—”

“I am here to see Carrow, Richards. I’m sure she would  _ love  _ if I informed her just how incompetent you are. I think it is best for all involved if you mind your tongue and let me through.” The wood of her wand was cool on her fingers. When did she grab her wand? “I’m a nice witch,” she hissed, giving the distinct impression of the exact opposite, “and I will let this  _ insult  _ go — once. Cross me again, and—”

“I beg your pardon,” Richards said quickly, stepping away from her. Clarke nearly smiled at the way he back away — the sight of a Death Eater dressed in all black  _ cowering  _ away from her was a sight she would remember for a long time to come. “It’s just — I — rules, and I’m sorry, I should’ve known better, I—”

“Yes, you should’ve known better.” 

She pulled the front of her cloak a little tighter around her and settled her expression, as if her angry outburst meant nothing to her. Really, to Abby, it didn’t. She was like the ocean — one minute, calm and beautiful, and the next, thunderous waves from deadly storms. She was unpredictable.

Richards was rattling on about something, but she was already moving forward. Her chin was high and her eyes locked on the large wooden doors of the place she once considered a home. 

The snow under her feet shifted from fluffy to soggy and packed the closer she got to the castle. The more time she spent pretending to be her mother, the easier it was. She found herself mindlessly acting like her, like it was second nature.

(Like it was second nature for her to be cold and distant.)

(Like it was second nature for her to be filled with rage and superiority.)

(Like it was second nature for her to be the exact thing that terrified her the most.)

The thought made her sick.

The castle was colder than she remembered it being. In her memories, everything was tinged gold. The corridors were filled with orange candlelight. Students would laugh and joke as they moved between classes. The air always smelled distinctly of pumpkin spice and pine trees.

And yet, that wasn’t what was right in front of her.

The chill from outside followed her in. The first thing she noticed was the lack of students in the front entrance and, as she made her way through the castle, the hallways in general. Portraits that used to talk so much that it made her want to put a foot through the canvas were silent. The fire in the lanterns seemed weaker, too, but she determined it must’ve just been her imagination.

As she made her way to see McGonagall, she felt like a ghost. Maybe she was a ghost. Maybe she had died long ago — before she managed to escape her mother and the Dark Lord’s ranks. It made sense that she would’ve ended up here; trapped forever in a place she was never truly herself.

Clarke barely registered the journey up to McGonagall’s office. Her feet felt heavy on the ground, yet her head swam and floated. The students that she did encounter cowered away from her, shrinking down and hiding away in the shadows.

She felt like a monster in these walls. 

Walking through the halls of a castle that used to be impenetrable made her realize one thing; the world was worse than what she thought it was going to be. She didn’t expect to see students covered in wounds — old and new. She didn’t expect to see the castle look so haunted. Even the people in Hogsmeade were different — wary, scared, broken.

Things had gone downhill in the months that she had been in hiding. It felt like all the light and hope had been sucked from the world, and Clarke hated it.

When she stood in front of her old professor’s door, it took everything in her not to burst into tears and throw the door open. She had never been particularly close with the transfiguration professor, but she was the person that saved her when she had no hope. She was her last hope to getting back home — back to the Order.

Her hand shook when she knocked. Her breathing was shallow as she waited for the door to be answered. Clarke listened intently as someone shifted around in the office, her heart finding its way into her throat.

_ This was happening. Her plan was working. _

When the door opened a crack, she strode forward, pushing her way into McGonagall’s office without being invited in. It wasn’t as tactful as she planned, but she was nearly vibrating from excitement. She doubted she’d be able to keep up the act of a hardened Death Eater for much longer.

McGonagall’s eyes were wide when their gazes locked. She was shocked into silence, but quickly regained her composure.

“I was not expecting you, Madam Griffin,” she said as she shut the door behind her. Her movements were too slow for Clarke’s taste; all she wanted to do was shed this stupid cloak and pull her professor in for a hug; neither of which she could do in plain view of the castle. “What can I do for you today?”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Clarke was crying.

She hadn’t planned to cry. Then again, does anyone  _ plan  _ to cry? There was something about being here — being beside the woman that saved her life — that made everything well up inside of her and burst out.

McGonagall looked horrified.

“Madam Griffin, I—”

“I might be a Griffin, but I’m not the one you’re thinking of,” Clarke assured her with a shaking voice. “I’m sorry.” She wiped at her face. “I just— Sorry.”

The older witch stared at her for a long moment. While her expression was blurred by Clarke’s tears, she witnessed it shift from horror, to confusion, to realization. She had always been a smart woman — Clarke didn’t know why she was surprised that she put the pieces together so quickly.

“Clarke?” she asked, her voice trembling. The genuine care and hope in her voice made Clarke sob harder. 

“It’s me,” she said, sniffing loudly. “It’s me, professor.”

McGongall slipped on a mask of emotions. Her wand was grasped in her hand. Clarke was either so exhausted that she didn’t have enough adrenaline to make her panic, or she trusted the woman in front of her enough not to curse her.

“Prove it,” she requested, her voice guarded. “Prove that you’re Clarke and not the face you wear.”

She expected this and came up with answers easily. 

“My name is Clarke Griffin. I was a Slytherin here at Hogwarts, and took transfiguration with you for six consecutive years. I met you in 1991 when you welcomed the first years to school for the first time and I took classes from you, but the first time I truly spoke to you was after I failed my first essay. The topic was simple — how to transfigure a needle into a piece of straw — but I didn’t know  _ anything.  _ Instead of letting me suffer all year and fail, and instead of contacting my mother, you pulled me aside and offered me lessons to improve. Despite me being a brat, you were patient as you taught me how to write. I don’t know how you did it — how you managed to sit with me for hours multiple times a week and not punch me. I wish I could go back to first year and punch me because, Merlin, I was a brat, and—”

“Enough,” she requested, her voice softer than her words. Her wand dropped to the desk beside her as she strode across the room. “Clarke.”

While it was the first time she hugged the older witch, her embrace felt like home. 

Clarke expected that if she were in her own body, her head would easily rest against her shoulder. In her current state, they were the same height, and she had to bend her neck to rest her chin against her shoulder.

“I’m so happy to see you,” Clarke admitted, the words rolling off her tongue. She wasn’t sure when it changed, but she never would’ve been so open with her thoughts and emotions before — especially not with a woman she hadn’t been close with. “I have so much to tell you — so much to ask you.”

“I don’t understand,” McGonagall said, her voice quivering. “The safe house… You were at the safe house that was attacked. How are you here? How are you okay?”

“We were attacked. I don’t know how they found us.” Her heart was hammering in her chest. “We got split up in the house and I was with Bellamy.”

“Bellamy? Bellamy Blake?”

In that moment, Clarke realized just how much had changed since the last time she spoke to McGonagall. The last time she saw her, Clarke had been on the run and didn’t have one person to call a friend. She didn’t trust anyone in the world and—

And, now, she never felt stronger.

“Yes, Bellamy Blake. We were together when we were attacked. We escaped. We’ve been on the run together.” 

_ Together. They did everything together. _

_ Except this,  _ Clarke thought.  _ Except go on the mission you planned with him. Except you left him in the woods before the sun was in the sky. _

McGonagall’s spine went rigid and she pulled out of the hug. The only word Clarke could think of to describe her expression was horrified. She had never seen her professor horrified before, and it made her heart stop beating.

“What?” she asked, already fearing the answer.

_ She was right to fear it. _

“Bellamy Blake is wanted.”

That hit her in the gut, whisking away the air from her lungs.

_ Wanted!? _

Clarke opened her mouth several times, but no words came out. It was as if her body was on autopilot as her mind raced to comprehend the new information.

_ Wizards and witches that were announced as ‘wanted’ were chosen by the Auror Department, a subdivision of the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry was currently under the Dark Lord’s control. This meant the Dark Lord  _ — _ or someone associated with him  _ — _ was looking for Bellamy. _

Her mother.

Clarke sunk into the chair behind her, her knees suddenly too weak to support herself. While she had no proof, she was  _ sure  _ her mother would’ve been behind this. It made sense — he was spotted with her in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley by the Death Eaters. If they reported back that they found her with him, her mother would begin to search for both of them — not just her.

She felt sick to her stomach.

“It’s a lie,” she said, her voice hoarse. She couldn’t look up to meet McGonagall’s eyes, even though the words she spoke were the truth. She didn’t want to see her horrified expression because,  _ fuck,  _ she probably thought Bellamy was a criminal. “Bellamy didn’t do anything wrong. You have to believe me.” At this point, she locked eyes with her. “Please. He’s innocent, whatever they’re saying he did, he’s—”

“I know,” the older witch cut her off and sank to the chair opposite of her. She looked exhausted. “Harry Potter is also a wanted individual, among many witches and wizards who have publicly aligned themselves with him. Or any witch or wizard that are Muggleborns, I hate to say.”

Clarke swallowed thickly. There was so much she didn’t know. So much had changed in the world and it terrified her. It hit her then, just how dangerous the bubble her and Bellamy had been living in was.

“We were spotted together, not that long ago,” Clarke explained. The day was easy to recall — she doubted she’d be able to forget about it any time soon. “We were getting potion ingredients, because we knew the only way we could come see you was by Polyjuice Potion, and got ambushed. They know I’m with him.” Her head fell to her hands. “Fuck. They had a whole team of Death Eaters searching for me, professor. One of them said they’d been looking for me —  _ me,  _ specifically.”

“Your mother is a nasty piece of work, I will tell you that.” She let out a soft breath. “I never thought I would be saying that to her face, but there you have it.” Clarke cracked a grin despite the overwhelming feelings of being lost and inadequate rushing into her. “If your mother knows you are alive and Mr. Blake is with you, then she will be looking for you both now.” She reached forward and grasped Clarke’s knee. “Keep him safe, Clarke. Mr. Blake is a lot of things; willing to hide not being one of them.”

“I’ve noticed.” Clarke glanced at the clock on the wall. Getting to this point took a lot longer than she estimated. She needed to get moving, quickly. “You knew about the safe house falling.”

“Unfortunately.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest. 

“You were surprised to see me.”

“I was.”

“What did you think happened to me? If you didn’t know I was on the run?”

McGonagall looked away and Clarke caught a glimpse of her emotion beneath the mask she wore. It made Clarke’s heart pound faster.

“I heard Death Eaters attacked Marcus’ safe house. Everyone had been accounted for, except for you and Mr. Blake. I will admit, I assumed the worst.”

The words fell from Clarke’s mouth before she could hold her tongue. “You thought Bellamy and I were murdered.”

The older witch’s gaze was guarded when she looked at her again. “No, Ms. Griffin, I did not think you were both dead. We didn’t find your bodies in the wreckage of the house. I assumed you had been taken back to your mother, as you told me she was looking for you. I assumed Mr. Blake had been taken with you, after I heard you two had become friends at the safe house, but when his wanted posters were released, I assumed he had been on the run.”

“You thought I was back with the Dark Lord,” Clarke mumbled. She thanked Merlin that wasn’t true. “Wait.” Her mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to process all the information McGonagall just gave her. “You heard that we were becoming close at Kane’s safe house. How… How did you hear that?”

Hope was a dangerous thing, but it was burning brightly in her chest in that moment.

McGonagall must’ve sensed her desperation. Her hand tightened on her leg and her lips curved into a smile. “Let’s just say that a little  _ bird _ told me.”

Her throat was tight.

“Raven?”

Clarke nearly sobbed at McGonagall’s nod.

“Yes, Ms. Reyes was  _ very  _ clear that you two would be together wherever you ended up.”

She let out a sob that shook her whole body. Her bottom tip stung from how hard she was biting it, trying to keep her tears at bay.

“Raven’s alive? She’s okay? She got out?” Involuntarily, she began crying as she spoke. Relief crashed against her — over and over — making her a shaking mess. She had been so scared for her, so scared that she didn’t get out of the house.

“Ms. Reyes is alive,” she confirmed.

In that moment, Clarke decided that everything that led her to this moment had been worth it. The trip to Knockturn Alley, murdering of Jugson, abandoning Bellamy in the woods, risking her life to come to Hogwarts — it was all worth it, just to get the news of Raven’s safety.

“What about the others? Harper? Monty?”

“Both safe as well.” 

Clarke’s head fell to her hands as she sobbed. She thought of Harper and her sweet smiles, and Monty’s hand against her own during battle practice, and all the times over the last month that she had thought of them. 

They were okay. All of them — Raven, Harper, Monty. They all got out.

“I was so worried for them,” Clarke admitted between sobs. “The night we were attacked, it was so hectic. We didn’t know what happened to anyone. Bellamy and I were in the kitchen when it happened, while everyone else was upstairs, and I heard screams, and we saw on the news that the house had burnt down and— Merlin. They’re all okay.  _ They’re okay.” _

“Clarke.”

She wiped her cheeks frantically. “I know, I need to calm down, but— fuck. Sorry, professor, but  _ seriously. Fuck.  _ I was terrified for them.”

“Clarke.”

“Where are they now? Are they okay? Are they—”

_ “Clarke.”  _

The force behind McGonagall’s voice made Clarke falter. She finally looked up at the woman, the words she was about to say still stuck in her throat. Her old professor didn’t look like someone who just told her about how everyone got out of the attack alive. She expected that she should’ve been happy, or smiling, or amused, but—

_ But not this. _

Not this stiff, detached,  _ broken _ demeanour.

She managed to find the words. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Not everyone got out that night,” she said slowly, her voice hoarse. “Your friends did, I told you the truth there, but—”

The truth hit Clarke like a bludger to the gut.

“Kane.”

McGonagall’s crestfallen expression was all the confirmation she needed. Clarke felt her throat close up. Her body went numb. She felt dizzy.

“Marcus didn’t make it out,” McGonagall continued. “I’m sorry.”

_ He is dead.  _ It was words that McGonagall didn’t say, and Clarke was thankful — she doubted she would’ve been able to handle hearing it put so plainly.

It felt like the air had been sucked from Clarke’s lungs, or like ice water had been dumped on her head. A chill descended on her body, numbing her, burning her. She wanted to cry, or scream, or both — she didn’t know, she didn’t care.

“How?” Once again, it felt like her body was running on autopilot, speaking without fully focusing on the words. Did she even  _ want  _ to know how Kane died? Part of her never wanted to find out, another part of her knew that she would torture herself with possibilities if she didn’t know the truth.

“Ms. Reyes told me that he ensured everyone was out before him. When the time came for her to leave, the Death Eaters were already on them. She was standing with him, fighting, but he convinced her to go. He never followed her out. Marcus sacrificed his life that night.”

“For us,” Clarke mumbled. A sourness burned her throat. “He died because of us. He sacrificed himself for us.”

McGonagall squeezed her leg. “While I have no doubts that he loved you all very much, he didn’t die just for you five. He was a member of the Order and dedicated his life to fighting for the good of this world. He sacrificed himself to ensure you five got to safety — yes — but it was so much more than that.”

She heard what she was saying, but didn’t comprehend it. All Clarke was thinking about was the fact she  _ heard  _ a scream the night they were attacked, but she did nothing. She left, she didn’t help, and—

“He knew what he signed up for, Clarke, when he joined the Order. All we can do now is ensure that his sacrifice wasn’t in vain. We have to keep fighting.”

She wanted to sit in McGonagall’s office and grieve for as long as it took, but she knew she had a mission to complete. She needed to get the information she came for and get back to Bellamy.  _ Then,  _ she could grieve Kane.

Clarke met McGonagall’s eyes. “I will,” she promised. “I am not giving up — not any time soon. At Kane’s, I realized that all I’ve been doing is running and hiding. When you found me, I just wanted a safe place to sleep. I didn’t care about the Order, and I didn’t care what happened in the war — I just wanted to be away from my mother, and I wanted things to be over.” She felt ashamed admitting the truth to someone that she respected so much, especially since the truth was as dark as it was. She hadn’t been fighting for the right reasons before. 

“It’s different now,” Clarke continued. “I  _ want  _ to fight — not because it’ll make the war end faster for myself, but because everything is so  _ wrong.  _ People are dying. The world is horrifying. I want this war over, and I’m not going to sit idly by while it happens. Not anymore. This is my fight — it always has been, but I’m just realizing it — and I need to do something. Anything.” Clarke knew she was rambling, but the only other person she had talked about this with before was Bellamy, and it was so much easier to talk to him than her professor.

“I have information,” she finally said. “From my time with them. I don’t know how helpful it’ll be — I wasn’t involved with anything substantial, and most details were hidden from me. My mother didn’t trust me, not even when she thought I was with her.  _ But I know enough.  _ I know names and faces and families. I might be able to help, and I want to help. Even if my information is old, or not useful, or whatever — I want to do  _ anything  _ to help. Please.”

She knew it was a long shot. Without Bellamy here with her, there was nobody to corroborate her story. For all McGonagall knew, Clarke  _ had  _ been with her mother this whole time, and was here to gain intel on the Order. 

McGonagall shouldn’t trust her, but she hoped that she would.

“You’re a strong witch, Clarke, and you’ve always been a good person. Even when you tried to hide it, you were  _ good. _ ” Her hand grasped her knee again. “We’ll work something out. Godric, we need any help that we can get.” Clarke let out a breath, relief washing over her again. “Not now though. We’re too exposed here — too many things could go wrong. Later.”

She shook her head. “I need to get going, professor. I… The Polyjuice is only supposed to last for another quarter of an hour, if I’m lucky, and I need to get back to Bellamy.”  _ Fuck,  _ Clarke realized,  _ she would have to break the news about Kane to Bellamy.  _ She forged ahead. “We have been on the run on our own for over a month. That’s actually the reason I came today. I was hoping you’d give me — us — the location of an Order safe house.”

Clarke held her breath as she waited.

“2199 Acores Street,” she answered without hesitation. “Go there immediately, and I’ll try to find time tonight or tomorrow to come see you.”

She refused to allow herself to get too hopeful at her response. 

“You’ll let them know we’re coming?” she questioned. “I just… I don’t know if anyone will willingly welcome me into their home unless they know you sent me.” After all, it was a miracle Kane accepted her, considering her Hogwarts house and her previous affiliations.

“I won’t have time to send word before you arrive.” She got up from her chair and made her way around the desk. Clarke glanced at the clock again and tried to keep her panic at bay.  _ She was cutting it close.  _ “Take this. Charmaine — the woman running the house — knows it belongs to me.” McGonagall passed a leather bound book to Clarke, and she flipped open the cover. It was a simple book on transfiguration, and the margins were filled with McGonagall’s looping handwriting. 

“This will be enough to convince her?” Clarke wondered.

“It will have to be. She’s a good witch — she’ll accept you.”

“But—” Clarke didn’t have time to argue this. She needed to go. If she was going to have time to floo to Hogsmeade and apparate back to Bellamy, she couldn’t waste much more time. She’d have to trust that McGonagall knew what she was talking about. “Okay.”

McGonagall smiled. “Alright then.”

Clarke stood. “I need to get going. Am I able to use your floo?” She nodded and Clarke moved around the desk to hug her. “Thank you, professor,” she said earnestly. “For everything.” 

Her arms tightened around her shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Clarke. We’ll talk more soon.” Clarke stepped out of her arms, and she felt at ease. For the first time all day, she allowed herself to feel hope. “Tell Mr. Blake that I am glad he is safe, too.  _ And keep him safe,  _ Clarke. You’re—”

Before she could finish speaking, the door to her office was pushed open. Clarke jumped in surprise and automatically reached for her wand in her pocket. Her heart was hammering and—

“Professor McGonagall, I— oh. Madam Griffin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you for being so patient :)
> 
> Update on the Bellarke Fanwork Awards: this fic made it to the finals in a few categories (Modern WIP, Fluff WIP, and bed sharing trope). I ALSO made it to the finals in a few other categories with a few other fics, and the category for Best Author. uh. yeah. THAT happened. my heart is bursting thinking about it. While voting is over now, I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for voting!!! It blows me away to think of the fact that so many of you reading this fic enjoy it so much?? Wild.
> 
> ok uh yeah thats it from me, folks. the next update shouldnt take me too long since its one ive been wanting to write for a while, but u know. im a mess.
> 
> I'll keep everyone updated on the socials :) (does anyone actually SAY socials still?? was it ever a thing??). im too tired for this. im on twiter and tumblr. come say hi :) and bug me for updates if i leave yall hanging for as long as i did this time.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Paw  
>  [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	23. Chapter 22: Friends and Foes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a while to write, just because it was one I've been looking forward to and I wanted to get it perfect. While this isn't perfect, I wanted to get it posted before I started picking it apart.
> 
> Warnings are at the bottom author's note.
> 
> Thank you!

**_  
CLARKE_ **

_ January 4, 1998 _

“Professor McGonagall, I— oh. Madam Griffin. I was not aware we were expecting you.”

A chill crept up Clarke’s spine, freezing her in place. She managed to stop herself just before she whipped her wand out of her pocket, regaining enough sense to remember  _ she needed to play a role here. _

Clarke’s body was rigid and face emotionless as she turned to look at the office door. The woman standing in the doorway was one she recognized easily — after all, she grew up with her visiting her mother nearly every week.

Her mother was friends with this woman — and good friends at that. Not only did that mean she had to drop the frigidness, it also meant she had to be convincing enough to trick one of Abby’s closest friends. 

She acted quickly. 

“Please, Alecto, drop the formalities.” Clarke smiled thinly at her. “You and I both know we are passed first name basis.”

Clarke’s heart was pounding. While she knew Carrow was placed in Hogwarts, she never thought of how that fact would’ve impacted their plan — other than Clarke using it to her advantage to try and get inside.

Now, she knew she and fucked up. She should’ve known something would’ve gone wrong, just when she was almost convinced everything was going right.

Carrow’s eyes were cold and calculating, and Clarke  _ knew  _ she was screwed. It felt like her eyes were seeing through the disguise perfectly — like she could see that it was Abby’s daughter under the skin, not Abby.

“You never mentioned you were coming here when I met you yesterday for tea,” Carrow said, her voice sharper than it had been only moments ago. She could see the switch in her personality — from being surprised to suspicious. Clarke’s heart stopped. “Strange.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Her heart was in her throat. Her palms were sweating. The urge to shoot a stunner at her and make a break for it was strong.

Carrow must’ve sensed her hesitation. Her eyes narrowed further and she took a step into the room.

“Abigail,” she said, her voice harsh. “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning on visiting the castle?”

Clarke was frozen. Things were quickly going to shit, but she stood there, unable to say anything. Carrow was suspicious, her Polyjuice Potion was minutes away from running out, and she couldn’t speak.

“Abigail,” Carrow said, harsher than before. Her wand was in her hand. Clarke was petrified. “When did—”

“Professor Carrow,” McGonagall cut in quickly, stepping around her desk. Clarke’s hands were shaking at her sides. “I asked Madam Griffin here to discuss the issue regarding detentions being held unsupervised in the Forbidden Forest, but I’m afraid I will have to postpone. I got word that a few first years are waiting for me in my classroom and the matter is urgent.” Clarke let out a breath and a wave of relief hit her. 

Thank Merlin that McGonagall was here to cover for her.

McGonagall turned to Clarke, her face pulled tight and lips pursed. She was a better actor than Clarke gave her credit for — she looked thoroughly disgusted by being in her presence. It was enough to jolt Clarke back to reality. 

_ She was Abby Griffin. Not Clarke. Abby.  _

“I trust you can show yourself out, Madam Griffin?”

“Of course.” With newfound confidence, she turned her gaze to Carrow and narrowed her eyes. “It was an urgent owl, Alecto. That’s why I didn’t mention this meeting to you the last time we had tea. Drink a calming potion — you’re too paranoid for your own good.”

Alecto scoffed. “Charming as always, Abigail.”

Clarke glanced at McGonagall and gave her a sharp nod, trying to convey her thankfulness without being obvious. Without wasting another minute, Clarke gripped the transfiguration book in her hand and left the office.

The door swung closed behind her, leaving McGonagall to deal with the Carrow situation. Clarke didn’t have time to question what would happen — she needed to get out of the school as fast as she could.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her neck. She moved through corridors and down stairwells based on muscle memory — not having the energy to think of where she was going. As she moved, she shrunk the transfiguration book down and stuffed it in her pocket.

The plan was for her to floo out of McGonagall’s office to Hogsmeade, and then disapparate back to Bellamy. That would've taken two minutes at the very most.

Now? Now, she had to race through the castle and off of the grounds of Hogwarts to apparate. It had been a few months since she attended the school, but the journey was more than fifteen minutes.

She had fifteen minutes left of Polyjuice Potion six minutes ago.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Clarke was tempted to sprint down the hallway to ensure she wasn’t trapped inside when she transformed back to her own body, but running would draw attention to herself. She would have to walk briskly and—

_ Fuck. _

Clarke’s feet froze under her as soon as she took the final step off a side staircase. Her whole body went rigid, like she had been dunked under ice water. Every muscle in her body tensed, her mind went silent, her lungs refused to cooperate.

_ She had been prepared for a lot of things to go wrong during this mission.  _

She had been prepared for people not to believe her disguise. 

She had been prepared for the Polyjuice Potion flat out failing. 

She had been prepared for McGonagall to turn her away, not believing that it was truly Clarke pretending to be Abby. 

She was even prepared to fight her way out of the castle, if need be.

_ The one thing she was not prepared for was this very moment. _

On the other side of the hallway — ten feet away, at most — stood a girl with long brown hair and dark brown eyes, both equally familiar to her. Her hair was just like his, save for the fact hers was dead straight, lacking the curls she loved. 

Clarke recognized her instantly, and it stole the breath from her lungs.

Standing in front of her was Octavia Blake, the younger —  _ and missing _ — sister of Bellamy.

Octavia was leaning against the wall with her nose in a book and wand in her hand. Most shocking was the nasty green bruise on her left cheek and a partially healed split lip. Her eyes jumped across her face, noting a few more bruises and healing wounds. Just as her gaze was about to move to examine her body, Octavia’s eyes left the pages in front of her and locked onto hers.

Clarke felt like she was punched in the gut.

_ This was Octavia.  _

Octavia Blake. 

Bellamy’s little sister.

Fuck. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

Maybe Clarke  _ did  _ drink too much at the Three Broomsticks because, once again, she couldn’t form words or thoughts. Here was someone that Bellamy had spent months looking for — someone that he loved beyond words — and she couldn’t form a comprehensive sentence. 

Octavia slammed her book shut and pushed off the wall, her expression filled with defiance. Her eyes were like fire, burning bright with determination and anger.

“Going to give me detention for reading now, are we?” she asked, her voice taunting. Octavia crossed her arms and lifted her chin in defiance. “Or is it because my blood’s dirtier than yours?”

What the fuck was she doing? Clarke could only stare at her in horror as the words sunk in. Octavia didn’t know it wasn’t truly Abby in front of her, which meant she was attempting to taunt one of the highest ranking Death Eaters.

It was reckless, and dangerous, and stupid.

(She really was Bellamy’s sister.)

Octavia wasn’t taking the silence well. Anger grew in her eyes. Her jaw locked the same way Bellamy’s did when he was preparing for a fight. Her knuckles strained against her wand.

“Octavia,” Clarke said slowly, hoping her name would be enough to catch her off-guard. Her hands were turned palm up in her direction. “I need you to listen to me, okay? I need you to—”

Octavia launched herself towards Clarke, a string of curses spewing from her lips. 

_ She wasn’t ready. _

It was an ungraceful collision — one that managed to knock Clarke backwards and land roughly on the steps behind her. Pain instantly flared and she hissed.

Octavia was standing a few feet away from her, her eyes wide with shock — almost as if she, too, was surprised by her actions. Clarke was openly gawking at her because—

“Are you fucking stupid!?” Clarke managed to pull herself off the staircase without crying out in pain. Each movement made her dizzy. “Do you know who I’m supposed to be!?”

Clarke caught sight of Octavia’s fist growing tighter at her side. Her lips were curled back in anger, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes burning. 

“Octavia… Octavia, no. No, Oc—”

Her fist swung towards her face.

This time, Clarke was ready and faster than her.

Her hand darted out and intercept her swing before it could reach her face. Her fingers curled around her wrist as her arm extended up, completely changing the projectile of the swing. Her other hand darted out to grab onto Octavia’s remaining wrist, ensuring she wouldn’t hit her with a left hook. The two girls stumbled towards each other, having both been thrown off balance.

It was at this point that Clarke learned that Octavia was filled with more fire than Bellamy.

“Let me go!” She thrashed in Clarke’s grasp, attempting to break her arms free. She struggled to keep her hold. Clarke swore to Merlin, this girl was going to be the death of both of them. 

“Octavia, stop! Listen — no. Fuck!” She managed to land a solid kick on Clarke’s shin and she nearly toppled over. “I’m not who you think I am — stop!” Clarke struggled to keep the youngest Blake’s fists away from her face.

Octavia changed tactics, seeing fighting wasn’t getting anywhere. She turned her head to the side and screamed. “Help! Help! Someone help, plea—”

Clarke relinquished her hold on her left hand to cover her mouth. 

She expected that pulling a baby mandrake from its pot without proper ear protection would’ve been a better idea than physically fighting Octavia Blake in the hallway.

Clarke was growing desperate. Octavia wasn’t listening — in fact, she was fighting harder as time ticked by. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold off the younger girl and, really, they didn’t have time to waste. She needed to get out of the castle before her Polyjuice expired!

She was desperate, and desperate people did stupid things.

“I know your brother!” She cried, her voice frantic. Her hand flexed on Octavia’s mouth. Her eyes were wide with horror and she stopped screaming for a brief moment. Clarke continued speaking. “I know Bellamy. He is—”

Octavia punched her in the face.

Instantly, pain blossomed from her cheek. Her head was thrown to the side from the force of the hit and the world tipped sideways around her. 

“Help! Help!” 

Octavia was screaming at the top of her lungs. 

Clarke was dazed on the floor. She could taste blood from where Octavia punched her in the mouth. Her lip was split open without a doubt, but she couldn’t feel any teeth dislodged.

This situation could not have been worse.

“What’s going on?!”

This situation, in fact,  _ could  _ have been worse. 

The universe had a funny habit of proving her wrong.

A Death Eater rounded the corner, his eyes locked on them. It only took him a second to come up with a story of what was happening. Here she was, a woman wearing Abigail Griffin’s body, lying on the floor, her face covered in blood. And there she was, Octavia Blake, a half-blood, standing over her with her hands curled into fists.

“Miss Blake!”

Clarke didn’t know the Death Eater who entered the hallway, because  _ of course she didn’t.  _ What else could make this situation worse?

Clarke tried to haul herself off the ground, but found that it was nearly impossible to move. Her head throbbed. Jolts of pain ran up and down her right arm every time she breathed. A duller, slower ache radiated up her back.

Clarke didn’t mean to groan in pain, but she did. She slumped backwards, letting her body prop up against the wall of the corridor. 

The Death Eater looked horrified. Octavia was frozen in shock, reminding Clarke of animals caught in flash photography that she saw on a nature documentary back at Kane’s.

Clarke could only watch as the Death Eater stormed towards Octavia, rage in his eyes. The younger Blake stood her ground, her strength unwavering, and Clarke had to admit, the kid was the embodiment of a brave  _ (reckless) _ Gryffindor.

The hands of the Death Eater gripped Octavia’s robe and his wand pointed at her neck. Octavia thrashed like she did moments before with Clarke, attempting to fight back once again, and the Death Eater slammed her into the wall opposite of her.

“Get off me!” Octavia snarled. “Get off—”

Clarke could hear the slap more than she could see it.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. She knew she had mere minutes to escape the castle before her potion ran out, but she couldn’t leave now — not with someone in danger because of her.

_ (Not with Octavia being in danger because of her.) _

Clarke groped her pocket for her wand, but it was missing. She caught sight of it across the hall, right under the toe of Octavia’s shoe. It must’ve gotten loose during their fight.

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

“Don’t touch me—”

“Quiet! You filthy half-blood, you’re—”

Clarke didn’t know where she found the energy, but the next thing she knew, she was swaying on her feet and lunging towards the Death Eater.

Clarke’s arm wrapped around the neck of the Death Eater and she used her imbalance to her advantage. Her knees buckled under her. The Death Eater toppled easily, not having expected Clarke’s attack.

Unfortunately, he didn’t let go of the front of Octavia’s robes before they fell.

Clarke hit the floor first, quickly followed by the Death Eater, and then Octavia. They were a heap of limbs on the ground, both Octavia and the Death Eater petrified from shock.

Clarke tightened her hold around the Death Eater’s neck. She remembered Harper teaching her briefly about Muggle biology back at Kane’s — specifically how to use it in a fight. 

_ Cut off the oxygen, take them out. _

The Death Eater gasped under her. Octavia somehow got trapped partially under his body. Fists were flying — from who, Clarke wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to keep her hold on the man in front of her, or they’d all face the consequences.

_ Things continued to spiral out of control. _

The Death Eater punched Octavia in the nose. Clarke’s elbow accidentally dug into Octavia’s ribs. The Death Eater’s boot connected with Clarke’s knee.

Octavia dislodged one of her arms and continued to attack Clarke. She reached around the flailing body of the Death Eater, grabbed a fist full of Clarke’s hair, and pulled. 

“Stop!” Clarke panted. Who knew strangling someone would take so much effort? “I’m— Fuck. I’m trying to help you!”

Octavia pulled her hair again. The Death Eater was fighting harder between them. His nails dug into her arm, desperately clawing for oxygen.

The younger girl looked  _ terrifying  _ in that moment. Her eyes were filled with hatred — more than she’d ever seen in her life. She was throwing her whole body into this and Clarke realized with a start that she was trying to kill her.

“O,” Clarke tried again, unable to find any other words. “O, stop.”

“Fuck you!” Octavia spat. Her hand was clenched tightly around Clarke’s wrist. “You’re a monster, Griffin. People are  _ dying  _ and—”

“Octavia, shut the fuck up and  _ fucking help me kill this guy!” _

Those were words she never thought she’d be yelling.

The Death Eater swung his head back. It connected with her nose. Her head flew back as a result and she sputtered, her mouth filling with blood instantly. Her grip on the man came loose and—

She was laying on her back, the unknown man above her, his hands digging into her throat. She gasped for air. 

Clarke couldn’t breath. She couldn’t see straight. Her eyes bulged. Her body felt limp and distant, like she wasn’t truly attached to it anymore.

_ So this is how I die,  _ she thought between the chaos.

“Who are you?” the Death Eater above her hissed, spit flying from his mouth. His lips were trembling when he pressed harder on Clarke’s neck. She clawed at his hands. Panic was engulfing her when—

The Death Eater’s hands were dislodged from her throat. Octavia tackled him to the ground, throwing him off Clarke.

Clarke couldn’t turn to watch how the fight unfolded. Her eyes were locked on the dull brown ceilings of the castle, her hands clutching at her throat, and she struggled to force air into her lungs. She coughed and wheezed. Blood splattered on her palm.

Everything tasted like iron. Her lips were cracked. Her nose felt broken. The world seemed to be tipping around her, and she questioned if she was truly laying on the ground or floating. She felt light and heavy all at the same time.

Octavia and the Death Eater continued to brawl. She couldn’t keep track of all the times the sound of flesh hitting flesh or a grunt came from the pair. Octavia was growling. The Death Eater was shouting.

When the world stopped spinning, Clarke tipped her head to the side and watched the end of the fight. The Death Eater was pinned under Octavia’s body. Her fist kept connecting  _ (and connecting, and connecting)  _ with his face, until, finally—

His body went limp under her. His head lulled to the side. Blood trickled between his lips.

He was dead.

Octavia must’ve realized it at the same moment she did. Her swing faltered before she froze entirely, her body going rigid. Her chest heaved. Her face was covered in blood. Her robes were skewed.

Clarke still could barely breathe. She let out a pathetic cough.

Octavia’s gaze snapped to hers. She looked like a warrior from ancient times — she was covered in blood, her eyes filled with anger, her body shaking with energy.

_ This is how I die,  _ Clarke decided once again, looking at the murderous gaze of her lover’s little sister.  _ Octavia Blake is going to kill me. _

Before either of them could speak, a burning pain erupted in Clarke’s body. The air got trapped in her lungs and she clenched her jaw, refusing to let a scream passed her lips. It felt like her flesh was melting. How whole body grew warm and tight, like she was being shrunken down. She could feel the pain eating away at her bones, and prickling at her skin, and burning away her thoughts.

She knew what the pain was immediately.

_ Time was up. _

Her Polyjuice Potion had run out.

The transformation back to Clarke Griffin’s body was worse than the one that happened when she became her mother. Maybe it was because she was already in so much pain — she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was completely and utterly fucked.

When the burning died away, she was still laying in the middle of the hallway at Hogwarts castle. Her throat still ached from where someone tried to strangle her. Her skin was bruised and busted in several places. She could taste blood pooling in her mouth.

And, Octavia Blake was still staring at her.

(Although, the latter came with less murder in her gaze than before.)

They locked eyes. 

They were both silent for a long moment.

Octavia was the one to break the silence. “You fight like a Muggle,” she said.

Clarke, still gasping for breath, managed a smile. “Yeah. Your brother taught me.”

* * *

It turned out, the Death Eater wasn’t dead. Clarke would’ve preferred if she practiced memory modification charms  _ before  _ she needed them, but she was confident she managed to erase all memories of the fight — if not a little more.

For now, he was propped up against the door to an empty classroom the three of them were hiding in. He had been hit with enough stunners from the two of them that he should remain out for a few more hours.

“He’s okay,” Octavia repeated, her voice shaking with relief. “Bellamy’s okay.”

Clarke told her as much as she could. She told her how they met in a safe house — making sure to leave out the Order’s name — and had been on the run with each other ever since. It took a while to convince Octavia she really did know her brother, but the younger Blake seemed to believe her as soon as she launched into a speech on everything she knew about him. 

She remembered what he told her about the last time he saw Octavia — that he left her with a friend in England and tried to figure out a place for them to hide in France until the war was over, but when he returned, she was missing. Clarke told her as much.

And, once Clarke started talking, it was hard to stop.

She told her how his favourite candy was Snack-O-Choc. How he wanted to teach at Hogwarts. How his favourite memory was skating on the lake with his friends during the Christmas holidays. How he was good at defensive magic, but brilliant with the offensive. How he knew his way around the kitchen. How his Patronus was a Labrador Retriever. How he was courageous and defiant, and took care of his people. How he loved with his whole heart, gave everything he could, and never backed down from a fight. 

“You love him,” Octavia pointed out when she finished. Her voice wasn’t critical or shocked — it was said as though she was saying that the sky was blue and the grass was green.

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed. “I’m in love with him.” 

The words were easy to speak. Natural, even. 

Clarke’s heart ached to tell him. Her heart ached to get back to him. A million thoughts and emotions crossed her mind with the thought of Bellamy — how she abandoned him, how he must feel so betrayed right now, how they would all be on their way to an Order safe house in a few hours, how ecstatic he would be to reunite with Octavia.

She knew how much he loved Octavia. He talked about her often, as soon as they moved passed the enemies stage. It took him a while to mention her at all when they were at Kane’s; just the idea of her was so special to him, he didn’t want to bring others into it.

“He loves you,” Clarke continued. “He’s worried about you, so worried. He spent months looking for you and, when that was going nowhere and he was brought to a safe house, he didn’t stop thinking about you. Even now, he worries about you constantly.”

“Sounds like Bellamy,” Octavia agreed.

“He’s told me a lot about you,” she admitted. “That’s why I recognized you right away. Well, that, and you look similar to him.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Great.”

“He’ll be really happy to see you again,” Clarke said. 

Her chest grew tight thinking about getting back to him. She could imagine how  _ happy  _ he was going to be when he saw Octavia again. She knew his sister’s fate was something that weighed on him for months — it was eating away at his soul — and being with his sister again was going to be  _ good. _ He’d be able to feel like he was fulfilling his promise that he made to his mother to keep Octavia safe. He wouldn’t feel guilty anymore.

“He’s back at our campsite right now.” Clarke pushed off the desk she was sitting on and brushed her palms against her loose robes. “I don’t know how we’ll be able to get out of the castle without being spotted, but… We’ll figure it out, and then I’ll side-along apparate with you back. We have a safe house with a few friends lined up, and all three of us can—”

“I’m not going.”

The speech died on Clarke’s tongue.

Octavia’s chin was lifted and her shoulders squared. She was covered in blood and bruises, but she looked strong — confident — sure.

Clarke could only stare at her as the words sunk in.  _ Octavia wasn’t going.  _

“Going where?”

Those were the only words she managed. She knew the answer already. Even if Octavia didn’t answer, she could see it on her face.

She wasn’t planning on coming back to Bellamy with her.

“I can’t leave,” Octavia said, her voice breaking. Her jaw tightened and her lips pressed tightly together, like she was fighting to hold back emotions. “I can’t go with you.”

“You have to.” Clarke’s heart was pounding in her chest. Octavia needed to come with her. She needed to reunite with Bellamy. She needed to be safe.

Or else—

Or else, she was going to be left at Hogwarts, a place infested with Death Eaters. It wasn’t safe here for anyone who didn’t follow the Dark Lord, but especially not for Octavia; she was a half-blood, and the sister of the man who was last spotted with her.

Cold horror gripped Clarke’s gut. It washed over her slowly, making her grow sick.

If her mother was looking for Bellamy, she’d do anything to get to him — which included hurting people he loved. Octavia was his only family left, and currently under the control of a Death Eater-controlled Hogwarts.

“You can’t stay here,” she pressed. She felt sick to her stomach. She had only met Octavia a quarter of an hour ago, but the thought of them not leaving together made her blood turn to ice. “It’s not safe. It’s not—”

“Griffin,” Octavia said, her voice stronger than before. “I’m staying.”

She couldn’t begin to understand where she was coming from. Here she was, covered in blood and bruises, yet she refused to leave. Why would she want to stay here — in the middle of the war — when she could come with her, reunite with her family, and be safe?

“You… You’re hurt,” she pointed out, like the fact wasn’t obvious. “They’re  _ hurting  _ you here, Octavia. You can come and—”

“The school is hell, yeah, but _I’m needed here.”_ She gestured to her injuries on her face. “You know how I got these? This one—” she pointed to her eye “—I got from refusing to perform the Cruciatus Curse on a first year as punishment. This—” she pointed to a healing split lip “—was when I snuck out after curfew to help _give water_ to a few students in detention. The school isn’t the school you know, Griffin; students are to be reported to the Carrows, who are in charge of detentions. In class, we’re taught the Unforgivable Curses, and we practice on students receiving detention.”

Clarke’s hands were shaking by her side. Things were worse here than she imagined. Horror and anger burned in her.

_ How could anyone do this? How could anyone think this was okay? _

“Which is why you should leave,” Clarke managed. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” Octavia didn’t look angry or tired — she looked determined. Clarke knew she already lost this battle; she already made up her mind. “I… I need to stay. This is my fight — now more than ever — and I’m not going to abandon my friends like that. Until the last kid is out of this school and far away from the Carrows,  _ I’m staying.” _

Octavia was a fighter.

It hit Clarke just how different the two of them were. While Octavia tackled problems head-on, Clarke thought that the war was best fought back at the safe houses, looking for ways to bring down the Dark Lord and Death Eaters through information and strategy.

Clarke had to accept their focuses and approaches were different. She knew her way of fighting in the war, and Octavia knew hers. Who was she to tell Octavia no? Who was she to pretend that fighting the war her way was the best way?

Octavia was determined and Clarke doubted she was going to change her mind based on a few pleas from a woman she didn’t know.

“Bellamy’s not going to like it,” she tried. It was a cheap shot, but she was desperate.

“Bellamy isn’t here, is he?” Octavia countered, her eyebrow raised.  _ No, but he should’ve been. _ “Besides, he would do the exact same thing. Do you see him abandoning his friends when they’re in danger? Do you see him giving up? Clearly, you know him. Would he do that?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“No.” Clarke swallowed thickly. “No, he wouldn’t leave.”

Octavia seemed to relax the slightest bit at that, like she was craving Bellamy’s approval through Clarke. Her shoulders smoothed and she nodded.

Clarke felt panic descending on her. If Octavia was staying, that meant she was going to be in danger. Not only because she was a student in a school run by Death Eaters, but because of her indirect connection with her. She needed to be safe.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice wavering. “Bellamy… He’s—”

“Currently wanted by the Wizengamot? I’ve been made aware.” Octavia’s mouth thinned and her eyes studied her. “I have a feeling that has to do with the fact you’re a Griffin and he’s in love with you?”

“I ran away from home and the Dark Lord,” she explained. My mother’s searching for me, and she knows Bellamy is with me. They know you’re his sister. They know—”

“They know that Bellamy left me during the summer, and they think he abandoned me. Do you think they’ll try to use me to get to him if he’s already left me once?” Before Clarke could answer, she was speaking. “Maybe. But I don’t care. Nothing’s going to get me to leave, Griffin.”

“Yeah, but—”

“This is my choice. You told me about it, you’re suggesting I leave with you, and I’m ignoring you.” Her face softened. “I’m staying.”

She was staying. It was final.

Clarke tried a different tactic.

“You… You have to try and blend in, be safe, be cautious. Don’t go looking for trouble, like taunting Death Eaters.” Clarke thought back to how they met, with Octavia trying to pick a fight with her while she was dressed as a high ranking Death Eater. If she truly was Abby, Octavia would’ve been dead.

Octavia fixed her with a hard look. “Do I think standing up to the Carrows is going to win the war? Do I think they’ll suddenly realize they’ve been wrong this whole time, and they shouldn’t be torturing kids and hating Muggleborns? No. I know I’m not going to stop them or the war.

“People are losing hope, Griffin. Everyday, things get darker. People need hope and fire, and  _ that  _ is something I can help with. It’s why I stand up to the Carrows, even though I know it won’t change the course of the war. Defiance gives people hope — it shows them that we don’t have to comply. I’m fighting this war; right here, right now. I’d rather fight now and face the consequences than sit in a safe house somewhere and do nothing.”

Clarke understood. While she wished Octavia would come with her, she understood her wanting to stay.  _ This was how she was fighting. _

She didn’t know what to say. Octavia’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Bellamy will hate it. I know.”

“No, actually.” Clarke’s throat felt tight with emotion. “I think he’d be really, really proud of you.”

Octavia’s face screwed up with emotion and she lunged at her. Clarke pulled the younger girl close. 

Her heart ached knowing that hug might have been the last time she saw her.

“Tell Bellamy I love him.”

She promised.

* * *

Octavia’s Hogwarts uniform fit her well enough. Switching clothing had been a last minute decision, but Clarke was thankful for it now that she was racing through the halls of a place she once called home.

The clothing she came into the castle wearing was loose in the wrong places and obviously Abby Griffin’s robes. Besides, if anyone saw her in Death Eater robes, they’d recognize her as a Griffin without hesitation. At least now, wearing Gryffindor’s colours, people might see her and pass her off as a student.

The journey through the castle was a blur. Clarke kept her head down as she walked. Her wand was up her sleeve. Her heart pounded.

Against all odds, she made it out of the castle without getting stopped again. As soon as she slipped out the doors pointed in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, she briefly felt relief. And, when she managed to cross the wards that protected the castle, she truly felt weight lift off her shoulders.

_ She did it.  _ It was time to head home.

She spared one last look at the castle in the distance before twisting her wand and disapparating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: blood, violence, description of injury, coarse language.
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> Thank you so much for reading. The response on this fic has been wonderful, and it blows me away every time I think about it. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Any predictions for the next chapter? A few of you have come close in your previous guesses, but THATS ALL IM GONNA SAY.
> 
> Also, because I'm excited about it and I haven't talked about it anywhere else yet... I may or may not have a fun Bellarke fic being posted in the next few days... and it may or may not be another AU... and it may or may not have to do with the force and falcons and cloud cities. but you didn't hear it from me.
> 
> Thank you again. Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Paw  
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	24. Chapter 23: Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a struggle to write, but I'm happy I managed to get it done faster than I originally anticipated! A huge thank you to eyessharpweaponshot for pre-reading and hyping me up. She's the best, you guys.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ January 4, 1998 _

* * *

Clarke landed on the forest floor with a gasp. The ground was cool under her knees and palms — wet too, like it had just rained. Her breath came out in small tendrils of fog in front of her.

Before she could get her bearings, she was pushing off the ground and calling for him.

“Bellamy! Bellamy!” 

Her voice was frantic — panicked almost, like  _ he  _ was the one that had been on a dangerous mission, not her. Her hands shook and her stomach rolled. It felt like she was going to get sick.

So many things had happened since she last saw Bellamy — so many things she had to tell him, so many things she had to make right.

“Bellamy!” 

Clarke spun wildly, looking for any signs of life around her. Her heart was thudding against her rib cage — not from the mission she had just returned from, but from the fear of  _ this  _ exact moment.

She was going to have to face Bellamy after she left him. She knew it wasn’t the right or honourable thing to do, but it was what was for the best. She tried to reason with herself still — hours after she went ahead and did it.

_ She did the right thing, even if it wasn’t easy, even if it felt wrong.  _ She was sure of that. By her leaving him behind, she was protecting him. And, beyond that, he couldn’t come on the mission while sick, and they  _ needed  _ information. Leaving him behind had been her only option.

When she couldn’t see their campsite, she began to panic. Dread seeped into her bones. Doubt filled her mind, just like it did when she was facing down Dementors.

_ He wouldn’t have left you,  _ she tried to tell herself.  _ He wouldn’t leave without you. He wouldn’t abandon you. _

“Fuck,” she hissed under her breath as she spun. Her thoughts swam.

**_You_** _abandoned him,_ she reminded herself. **_You_** _were the one to leave. If he left the campsite, that wouldn’t be him abandoning you because you did it first._

All of her doubts from earlier came crashing back full force. 

_ He left. You betrayed him, and he left you.  _ It made sense, didn’t it? What would she have done if their positions were reversed?

Clarke thought back to weeks ago, when they argued about the Muggle radio and he left. She waited for him to return. Then again, that situation was different. He didn’t leave her behind on a mission they agreed to do together. He didn’t go back to the Wizarding world to complete a dangerous mission.

She remembered how hurt and betrayed she felt that night, and she realized he’d be feeling worse than that in this moment. 

Clarke’s chest was tight. A cold gust of wind came, blowing Octavia’s cloak open. She shuddered and pulled the fabric tighter around her shoulders.

Just as complete and utter panic was creeping up her spine, the atmosphere around her shifted. She felt the change in magic around her as the wards came down, revealing the campsite she left only hours ago.

Clarke could’ve sobbed from how relieved she was.  _ Bellamy stayed. He didn’t leave her. He didn’t go after her. He wasn’t so mad at her that he left. _

She surged forward, all of her doubts and worries forgotten. Bellamy was standing a few feet away from their tent and she threw herself into his arms, too emotional for words.

“I thought you left!” she admitted, her face pressed against his chest. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, pulling his body flush to hers. 

While she had only been gone for a few hours, she was half-expecting to never have this moment again. She could’ve died, or he could’ve left, or they could’ve been separated, or she could’ve forgot the location of their campsite, or—

Too many things could’ve gone wrong. It brought her to tears to think of how  _ finally,  _ something went right for them.

Clarke rambled about how worried she was, about how she couldn’t stop thinking of him, about how she missed him because, well, it was the truth and she was overcome with emotion.

She was so busy talking that she didn’t register the fact his body was stiff under hers, nor did she realize his arms didn’t circle her frame like she did with him, nor did she realize how uncharacteristically silent he was.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you,” she said. “Merlin, we’ve been together for so long, it was weird being away.” Clarke smoothed her hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body under her palms. She let out a shaky breath and continued. “I wished you were there so many times, Bellamy. Fuck, I could’ve used your help, and—“

“So, that’s it then?” Bellamy said, his voice venomous. The tone threw Clarke — she hadn’t been expecting it. She was so caught up with her own relief that she momentarily forgot how they got here — with her sneaking out of their tent in the morning, with her completing the mission alone, with her  _ leaving  _ him. “That’s all you’re going to say? ‘I wish you were there.’”

Clarke knew Bellamy was going to be upset with her — she  _ knew it  _ from the moment she decided on the plan — and, yet, she didn’t know what to say to make things better.

“I  _ did  _ wish you were there,” she said slowly, unsure if this would make things better or worse. “Things almost went to shit a few times — like, when I was trying to get to Hogwarts, Dementors were  _ everywhere  _ and I had to improvise, but it would’ve been so much easier if—”

Bellamy took a sharp step away from her, pulling out of her grasp. Clarke stumbled and straightened, a flash of hurt hitting her. She knew it was selfish for her to feel hurt in this situation — she knew she hurt him more — but she couldn’t ignore the way her heart tugged painfully.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Griffin. What the fuck?” Bellamy’s mouth hardened into a line. “I’m happy you’re okay, of course, but  _ what the fuck?  _ You left. You… You did the mission on your own!”

“Bellamy—“ She crossed her arms and took a step backwards, trying to figure out the best way to go about this. “Did you read my note? I left you a note.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a creased piece of parchment. The paper looked worn — more worn than what it had been when she left in the morning.

He must’ve read it a dozen times over. Then crinkled it into a ball. Then read it a dozen more times.

“I got it,” he said, his voice icy. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

She wasn’t sure either.

“I just… I want you to understand,” she tried. 

That was all she wanted, wasn’t it? That was why she left him that letter, right? Asking for him  _ not  _ to be upset was beyond reasonable because, if the positions were reversed, she knew she’d be upset too. She liked to believe she’d try to look past her emotions though — that she’d listen to whatever Bellamy said, and understand where he was coming from. She’d still be upset — of course she would be — but she’d understand.

Clarke swallowed thickly. “I knew you’d be mad — I knew — but it was either I go alone, or you come and jeopardize the mission.”  _ (And yourself.) _

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t understand. You don’t get to make decisions like that on your own, Clarke.”

“I needed to make this decision on my own.” Frustration was welling up inside of her, and she didn’t stop to think of how ridiculous this whole thing was. It was her fault — she knew it was her fault — so why was she getting upset? 

“Oh, really? You needed to make the decision on your own? When we’re partners in this?” Bellamy’s expression crumbled the slightest bit and it nearly cracked Clarke’s heart in two. But, as quickly as it appeared, his hurt disappeared. He was angry. “Please, Griffin, enlighten me as to why you needed to decide this on your own.”

“You can’t be logical,” she snapped back. “I know you, Bellamy, and I know you would’ve argued against anything I said.”

“Because you going alone is reckless and stupid!” Clarke couldn’t pull her eyes away from him. “We should have discussed it.”

“You would’ve said no.” Clarke’s jaw tightened. “You were the one to tell me that, sometimes, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. This was one of those times.”

“So, you’re asking me for forgiveness? Huh?”

Clarke’s heart ached from the way he said it. She clenched her jaw tightly. “Yes. I’m asking for forgiveness.”

“Well, no, I don’t forgive you.” Bellamy threw the note to the ground. Clarke’s throat was closing in. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. 

Clarke knew the anger bubbling up inside of her was because of how  _ hurt  _ she was in that moment, but it didn’t take away any of the heat in her. She was mad, and that was good enough for her.

“If you didn’t want me to come, fine. Fucking fine! But you going alone? I never would’ve agreed to that. Not in a million years!”

“Exactly!” Couldn’t he see? This was exactly why she did what she did. “You’re too sick to come. The mission needed to be done. If we would’ve had this conversation before going, you would’ve never have agreed, and I never would’ve been able to sneak away.”

“Because it is stupid,” he said again. “Fuck, Griffin, what aren’t you getting? Going alone was dangerous and stupid!”

“We didn’t have another choice.” 

With that, Clarke brushed passed him as she walked into the tent. They needed to pack and get to the safe house soon. McGonagall made it clear she needed to get there before nightfall and arguing wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Bellamy followed her into the tent. “There’s always another choice — you just didn’t like it.”

“What other option did I have, Bellamy?” She threw a few of her things into a pile. “Enlighten me.”

“You could’ve stayed.”

“No, because this was our last day to do the mission!” 

She ran every option in her head before settling on this one. Why couldn’t he see that she did what was best? Even if he didn’t like it — even if he was hurt by her decision — it was what was best for both of them.

“And what is so important about this mission? Is it more important than your life?”

Clark whipped around. “Yes, it is, frankly. The mission was to find a way back to the Order — which I  _ found,  _ by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Bellamy scoffed. “Do you really think I want to talk about going back to the Order when  _ you just left!? _ ”

“Yes, because I’m not an emotional mess like you are, apparently.” Clarke knew it was a low blow, but she was angry, and anger made people say stupid things. 

Bellamy looked shocked for a moment before a cold anger settled over him. His lips pressed together tightly. His eyes narrowed. “Right. Because you’re a Griffin, right, and Griffins don’t have emotions?”

“Fuck you,” she snapped. “Don’t talk to me about family, Bellamy. Don’t compare me to them because we both know I’m  _ nothing  _ like my mother.”

“You’re right; you don’t torture people for fun. You just betray the person you’re  _ sleeping with,  _ right? You just go on a dangerous mission alone, and then come back here and pretend you’re in the right. That’s what we’ll talk about.”

She tried to pretend it didn’t  _ really fucking hurt  _ that he reduced their relationship to just sleeping together. It wasn’t like she was completely and utterly in love with him or anything.

Clarke didn’t want to call him out on it because, if she did, that meant she’d have to come clean about how she felt, and she did  _ not  _ want to do that while they were both arguing.

Instead, she changed the subject and tried to soften her tone.

“I wrote you a note that said I was coming back,” she pointed out. “And I did! I’m back! After a successful mission, might I add.”

“That’s  _ not  _ the point,” Bellamy snapped. “This isn’t about you not coming back or not — its about you acting without consulting me!”

“I’m a big girl, Blake. I don’t need your permission to do anything.”

“I— Fuck. That’s now what I’m saying. I know you are perfectly capable of handling things — I know you are — but,  _ Clarke.  _ This was a mission for two people, and I wake up and you’re gone! You could’ve died. You could’ve—”

“But I didn’t die.” They were talking in circles and Clarke was sick of it. “Do you or do you not agree that this was the best course of action?”

“I don’t agree!”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. Think logically? Stop thinking with your emotions? I really don’t know.” Clarke shrugged off the Hogwarts cloak and winced. Her whole body ached from the fight in the hallway. She tossed the cloak into her growing pile to pack. “I did what was best for us. End of story.” Bellamy fell silent. For some reason, this made Clarke even  _ more  _ annoyed. She turned to him, but faltered when she saw how  _ shocked  _ he looked. “Wh— What?”

They locked eyes. His were wide with panic. “You’re hurt.”

The anger she felt moments ago melted away. Before she left Hogwarts, she washed as much blood from her face as she could, but she  _ knew  _ she looked as screwed up as she felt. Her back ached. Her nose felt like it was broken. Her face was already swelling and she sported a split lip. Worst of all was her neck, where the Death Eater tried to crush her throat.

She swallowed thickly.

“It’s fine,” she dismissed. “I just—“

“You’re not fine.” Bellamy stepped closer to her, his eyes scanning her face. “You were attacked?”

“Things didn’t go as planned.” 

“Are you okay? What happened? Was it Death Eaters?”

Clarke wasn’t sure how to phrase it delicately, and she was in no mood to try and figure it out.

She dropped to her knees and began taking the sheets off their bed — desperate for anything to keep her hands busy and eyes off Bellamy.

“It wasn’t Death Eaters,” she said. Her hands slowed and she swallowed thickly. “Not  _ all _ of this anyways.” 

“If it wasn’t from Death Eaters, then who?”

Clarke couldn’t bring herself to look at him, so she focused on a loose thread on the sheet. “It was Octavia.”

Clarke could  _ feel  _ the shift in the tent. They both fell silent. Clarke stopped breathing. The tension built faster than a summer storm. She could  _ feel it  _ — thick, suffocating, heavy.

She gathered the courage and glanced up. 

Bellamy had gone completely rigid — his eyes wide, his lips parted, his brows furrowed. She could see his muscles tighten along his jaw and down his neck.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her mouth was dry. She knew how monumental of a moment this was for him, yet she couldn’t find the right words. For the first time in a long time, she couldn’t get a proper read on his emotions.

It made her uneasy.

“I saw her as I was leaving, after visiting McGonagall. She’s at Hogwarts, Bellamy. She’s fine.” Bellamy was still frozen, so she kept talking. “I was still under the Polyjuice Potion when I ran into her in the hall, and she attacked me. Well, she attacked my mother — and she  _ knew  _ it was my mother, too. She insulted me a few times and, when I was too stunned to reply, she decided to punch me in the face. She’s great.” 

His eyes focused on hers. They were burning with intensity that made her shift awkwardly.

“You saw Octavia.”

“Yeah.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Octavia is at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy didn’t ask another question. Instead, his expression turned completely blank. Clarke tried to fill the silence. “A, uh, Death Eater tried to hurt her. He  _ did  _ hurt her. But I was there, and I managed to get him off of her, except things were confusing and everywhere, and she was the one to end up punching him until he was knocked out.”

Bellamy’s eyes were blazing. “A Death Eater hurt her?”

She didn’t have any intentions of keeping what she discovered at Hogwarts a secret from him, but she wanted to phrase it more gently than she did. What was happening at Hogwarts to kids — to their friends — to his sister — was horrifying.

“Hogwarts isn’t what it used to be,” she said slowly. “Death Eaters watch over the castle, and two of them are in charge of detention. They’re… Merlin, it’s horrible.” Clarke’s throat tightened as she thought of how gut-wrenchingly horrible the castle was. It made her feel physically sick. “In class, they’re taught and are forced to practice the Unforgivable Curses. If someone gets detention, they’re tortured. Blood prejudice is everywhere. Nobody is safe — not if you don’t follow the Dark Lord.”

Bellamy didn’t speak.

She continued. “I told her that you were safe, and that you’re thinking of her, and that you love her. She was relieved to hear you’re okay, and thankful, and she wanted me to tell you that she’s fine too, and—”

Bellamy turned on his heel and stormed out of the tent.

Clarke was frozen for a moment before she jumped into action. She raced after him, her heart pounding once again.

“What— What are you dong, Bell?” He didn’t answer, nor did he slow down. His wand was drawn. His steps were unwavering. She had to jog to catch up to him. “Bellamy, what’s going on? What’s—” Clarke’s body froze when she realized what he was doing. “I swear to Merlin, Bellamy, if you leave—”

“If  _ I  _ leave!?” He rounded on her, his eyes blazing. “That’s rich, coming from you, Griffin.”

She tried to pretend the use of her last name didn’t hurt, but it did —  _ it really did.  _ They were long past last names, and him using hers caused an ache rise in her. It felt like he was throwing all their progress — their whole relationship — to the side.

(Even though she did it first when she left him that morning.)

“Where do you  _ think  _ I’m going? Take a wild guess.” Bellamy’s movements were jagged and rough. He looked like he was barely containing his rage, barely holding it together. 

Clarke inched towards him, her heart pounding. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Do you?” His tone was venomous.

“I do. You want to go to Octavia. Right?” She hovered by his side. His body was tensed. The skin of his knuckles was pulled tight from gripping his wand so tightly. His breathing was heavy. His chest heaved. “You can’t go.” He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. He looked away from her. His eyes squeezed shut. “You can’t—”

“You,” he snapped, his voice sharp, “don’t get to tell me what to do. Not anymore.” When he turned to look at her, she wanted to cry from the anger on his expression. She couldn’t recall a time where he looked more disgusted with her — not even when they hated each other. “You gave up that right this morning, when  _ you  _ made decisions for the both of us, when  _ you  _ left me.”

_ It hurt.  _ Having him look at her like that  _ hurt.  _ It was a bone-deep ache, one that she hadn’t felt before. After everything they’d been through — after all those months spent together — he was looking at her like he did when she first arrived at Kane’s. She could see the suspicion and hatred in his gaze. She could  _ feel  _ the disgust rolling off of him.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t look at her with love in his gaze, and it shattered her heart.

Clarke struggled to speak for a moment, overwhelmed by the emotions rising in her, overwhelmed by the way he looked at her. She pushed it all away.

_ Now was not the time. _

She risked everything to get the information on the Order, and she wasn’t going to let whatever this was make  _ all of that  _ go to waste. She wasn’t going to let her emotions get in the way of finally getting back home.

“I have the location of a safe house,” Clarke said, her voice even. “It’s run by a woman named Charmaine. We… McGonagall told us to go there, that she’ll welcome us and take care of us.” Bellamy turned away from her. She struggled to maintain her composure. He felt so distant, yet he was  _ right there in front of her.  _ “We are going.”

Bellamy was silent. If she didn’t know any better, Clarke would’ve thought this was a normal day; the birds chirped happily in the trees, the wind rustled the leaves, water trickled over rocks in the distance. 

Except, she did know better.

This was not a normal day.

Bellamy’s back was towards her. She was tempted to reach out for him, but she didn’t know if that would make things better or not. 

When he spoke, he didn’t turned to her. “We,” he echoed, his voice hollow. “You say it like you didn’t just  _ leave.  _ Like you didn’t just—” He stopped speaking. Clarke held her breath. His curls bounced when he shook his head. Her throat constricted. “Just… No. You don’t get to say ‘we’ right now.” Finally, he turned to her. Her breathing hitched when she saw how utterly  _ wrecked  _ he looked in that moment with red-rimmed eyes and twisted lips. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Clarke didn’t  _ want  _ to tell him — but she knew that she needed to.

She clenched her jaw and locked eyes with him. “Kane… He didn’t make it out of the house. He’s dead.”

The silence stretched for one beat.

Then two.

Then—

He yelled. Her blood ran cold from the pure anguish in his voice.

The birds stopped chirping after that.

* * *

This felt too familiar to Clarke.

As they walked the darkening road of Acores Street, a sick sense of déjà vu was creeping up Clarke’s spine. She thought back to three months ago — before she met Kane, before she befriended the safe house occupants, before she felt belonging for the first time, before she realized the war was about her, too.

It had been so different back then. Simple, in a way, but more complicated in others.

She knew she was in danger. She knew she didn’t agree with her mother. She knew she needed a place to lay low for a while, until the war died down. She knew she hated Gryffindors and anyone with the last name Blake. She knew she was a monster, and that was okay with her.

But, she didn’t know about Muggle movies, or that their metal horses were called taxis, or that their electricity could glow a million different colours. She didn’t know what it felt like to fit somewhere, to belong to something, to find a purpose that was  _ truly  _ hers. She didn’t know how good it felt to lay in Bellamy’s arms, or love someone so much that it hurt, or have such a deep sense of trust.

She didn’t know a lot of things.

Clarke felt like a different person, and it sent a jolt to her core. Here she was, walking a darkened Muggle street, a black hood pulled around her blonde hair, her fingers tight over her wand — just how it was three months ago —  _ but it was all so different. _

As they walked, she thought of the difference in the reasons  _ why.  _ When she was going to Kane’s, it was so she could lay low and hide. She was running away from something. She needed to go to the Order so she could stay safe.

And now? She was running  _ towards  _ something. She wasn’t going to the Order so she could be safe — she turned to the Order so she could help. She had no intentions of laying low anymore. She wasn’t running.

And  _ that  _ right there was the biggest change. Clarke wasn’t afraid anymore — not in the ways that she was before. In fact, it was the opposite. While she was afraid to take a stand before, she was now afraid to  _ not _ do exactly that. She was afraid of who she would be if she didn’t try to fight in this war.

Clarke glanced at Bellamy out of the corner of her eye. Maybe she was afraid of a few more things than before, too.

_ Maybe she was afraid of this  _ — whatever this was.

He hadn’t spoken to her. When she told him about Kane, he screamed so loud that it made her skin crawl. When she reached for him to comfort him, he pulled away from her. She could still remember the  _ coldness  _ that consumed her when he looked at her.

_ “I need a minute,” he told her, his voice hoarse. “Just… I need a minute.” _

So, she left him to process. The minute stretched to hours, and Clarke was half afraid he took off on her as she packed up their tent. But, no, she glanced out between the flaps of the tent every once and awhile, and he never left.

_ (He’s a better person than you are,  _ she told herself.  _ He wouldn’t leave you, not even after you did that to him.) _

Fuck, Clarke didn’t know what to think. She knew he was going to be upset with her choice, but she didn’t think he’d be  _ this  _ upset. She thought he would be annoyed, but once the original sting faded away, he’d understand that she did what was best for both of them.

She was wrong. The original sting wasn’t going away. He was upset when she returned, and that hadn’t changed since. In fact, it got worse, and worse,  _ and worse. _

Even though he stood beside her now, he wasn’t looking in her direction. He spoke as little to her as possible. It wasn’t just because they needed to be stealthy either — he was just as stiff and distant back at the campsite.

Clarke knew Gryffindors could be head-strong and stubborn, but she never would’ve predicted this. She thought she knew Bellamy better than she obviously did. 

Sure, she left him, but she came back! He was sick and unable to go. He would’ve jeopardized the whole plan. And, really, she did what they needed to do. She didn’t die. They were on their way back to the Order — something they both have been wanting for over a month. 

Clarke understood him feeling betrayed and upset because — yes — she did make decisions for the both of them without consulting him and — yes — she technically snuck away and left him, even if it was never with intentions of it being permanent. But for him to be this distant? This angry? This disappointed?

She didn’t understand, no matter how long she thought about it. If things turned out okay, why was he so upset?

The silence between them was awkward and strained. They usually moved together easily, but they were stiff and detached now. Every time she bumped his arm, he’d move a few inches back. The muscles in his jaw were taunt and his gaze locked ahead.

Clarke wanted to say something, but what could she say? She told him everything earlier, but it didn’t help.

Things would be clearer in the morning. Once they got to the safe house and slept on it, it wouldn’t seem so bad. She was sure of it.

So, for now, she didn’t say anything.

After a few more minutes of walking, the numbers on the houses were getting closer and closer to 2199. The houses in this neighbourhood were tiny, tall and pressed close together — it was a stark contrast to Kane’s neighbourhood.

The house with 2199 painted in front of it looked identical to the rest of the houses on the street; it was made of red brick, had a faded grey roof, and a white door. In a way, the emptiness of it reminded her of Kane’s house. Magic concealed the true nature of the building, hiding all life and activity.

They were two houses away from the safe house when Bellamy came to a stop. She stopped a few paces ahead and glanced at him over her shoulder.

“We’re almost there,” she offered, unsure of why he stopped walking. Her eyes darted along his features, trying her hardest to get a read on him. Her heart ached when she couldn’t.

It wasn’t quite night yet. The sun was setting behind her, turning the sky various shades of purple and red. Bellamy’s eyes looked like pools of honey. She always loved his eyes, they were breathtaking. When people said eyes were like the windows to the soul, the must’ve been talking about Bellamy Blake’s eyes.

_ Except now.  _ They were blank, hauntingly so. They were shadows of the eyes she had grown to love.

Bellamy didn’t speak. She didn’t try again either. They merely stared at each other in silence. Bellamy’s gaze bore into hers. She felt like she was being studied and, with each second, it made her grow more and more unsure.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Clarke—”

Before he could even begin to speak, a new set of voices filled the emptiness of the street.

Clarke turned around just in time to see the wards surrounding house 2199 shimmer. While the spot where the garden path met the Muggle street had been empty moments before, a familiar woman was standing now.

Her hair was in a ponytail that rested high on her head and she wore a red jumper. She was standing on the path — frozen what must’ve been shock. While she was still too far away to see any details, Clarke knew who she was instantly.

For a moment, all Clarke could do was stare at her, her eyes wide and lips parted. She had been waiting for this moment for so long that it didn’t feel real now that it was happening. Time seemingly stood still as her mind rushed to process everything.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“Raven.” 

Raven broke into a run. Clarke felt like she was going to sob.  _ Hearing _ from McGonagall that she was alright and  _ seeing her  _ were two completely different things. She had been so worried for her — for months, she wondered what happened to her.

_ And here she was. _

Clarke’s throat was tight, but she still managed to speak. “Merlin, Raven, I was so worried about you, I—”

Raven flew right past Clarke’s open arms.

The words died on Clarke’s tongue and a pang of hurt radiated from her chest. She watched as Raven  _ sprinted  _ towards Bellamy. She threw herself forward when she was close enough, nearly knocking both of them to the ground with her momentum.

“Bellamy,” Raven sobbed, her whole body shaking. “I thought you were dead! I thought—” She was crying so hard that she couldn’t speak. They clung to each other like their lives depended on it. “I can’t believe it. I can’t—”

Clarke couldn’t look away, even though it felt like she was intruding on a private moment between the two of them. Her eyes swept along their joined form, a crushing feeling overtaking her. 

She almost forgot that her and Raven weren’t exactly close back at Kane’s. 

She almost forgot that Raven was Bellamy’s best friend.

When Bellamy started crying into Raven’s hair, Clarke had to turn away. Her chest  _ ached.  _ In fact, she could feel the pain radiating all the way down her arms to her fingertips. Her eyes burned from unshed tears. Her mouth tasted bitter.

There was something so unsettling seeing Bellamy be so open and vulnerable with Raven when, moments ago, he couldn’t show a shred of emotion to her. It felt like a wound was ripped across her heart.

“Ms. Griffin!” Professor McGonagall appeared through the shimmering wards, her eyes wide and lips pressed together with worry. “I arrived a few minutes ago to meet with you regarding your involvement with the Order, but Charmaine told me you never showed. We were beginning to think the worst.”

“We had a lot to pack up,” Clarke lied. 

Raven and Bellamy’s conversation grew more hushed. Good. She didn’t want to hear their tearful reunion. 

She smiled at the older witch, hoping that she was better at hiding pain than she was at pretending to be her mother.

“Well, I’m glad to see our worries were for naught.” She beckoned her closer and Clarke went willingly. “We have much to discuss.”

As her professor ushered her towards the house, she spared one last glance at Bellamy. She was half hoping their eyes would meet like they did so many times before, but—

He hadn’t looked away from Raven.

She clenched her jaw and forced her gaze forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was HARD because I feel for both of them in this situation?? And trying to write them arguing sucks. I just want them to understand each other!! PLEASE GUYS. DONT ARGUE. 
> 
> (but, it must be done.)
> 
> I'm really excited to move onto this next "segment" of the fic with Diyoza's safe house and Clarke's involvement with the Order. It also means we're getting close to wrapping up this fic?? Which is wild?? We're in the last third!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	25. Chapter 24: Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. you aren't ready. good luck.

**_CLARKE_ **

_January 4, 1998_

* * *

Clarke didn’t see much of Charmaine’s safe house when she was first brought in. McGonagall ushered her through a side door and immediately into a sitting room, which was closed off and charmed with protective spells for their meeting.

An hour later, when the details of their partnership had been set and McGonagall left, Clarke was welcomed by Charmaine.

The unfamiliar witch sank to the couch opposite of the one Clarke sat on. She looked at ease and bored by the whole situation, which Clarke found odd. Shouldn't she be worried and suspicious? She just brought two fugitives into her home — one of which was a Slytherin and a Griffin, while the other was wanted by the Ministry.

“Clarke Griffin, right?” 

She examined her. She must’ve been in her thirties or forties — it was hard to tell. Her brown hair was pulled into a slick ponytail that hung at the nape of her neck. Her grey eyes were striking and highlighted with dark Muggle make-up. 

“You’re right. You must be Charmaine?”

She wrinkled her nose, but stretched her hand over the coffee table in the middle of the room. Clarke leaned forward to shake it. “Call me Diyoza.”

“Diyoza,” she repeated. 

She didn’t recognize her first or last name, which was surprising. She knew many pure-blood families well — knowing and recognizing old wizarding families was a skill her mother taught her early. Unlike Kane, Clarke didn’t recognize her either.

Clarke glanced at the closed doors that led to the rest of the house. “How’s Bellamy?” she asked. She could still see how miserable he looked the day before. Even though he avoided her for most of the day, she could still tell he was sick.

“Blake’s doing fine. He’s settled in.”

“He’s sick,” she told her, still not looking away from the doors. “Yesterday was worse, but—”

“I gave him a few potions. Like I said, he’s fine now.”

Clarke turned her gaze back to Diyoza and studied her. Something didn’t sit well with Clarke. Why was she so hesitant to give information on him? Wasn’t it clear that she was close with Bellamy, especially when they both showed up after being on the run together for over a month?

Her calculating gaze must’ve gave a _very_ different impression because, when Diyoza leaned forward, her eyes were sharp. 

“I’m a half-blood, if you’re trying to figure that out,” she stated, her eyebrows raising. Clarke’s cheeks burned.

“Wh— No. That wasn’t—”

“It’s okay,” she assured. “I know how your lot operates.”

Clarke’s mouth slammed shut and her body went rigid. It took a few seconds to process her words before a chill descended on her.

 _“My lot?”_ Clarke echoed, her voice tensed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but—”

Diyoza leaned back in her chair. Clarke wanted to wipe her smug smile off her face. Who was she to judge her without knowing her?

“I know your type, Griffin. You come from a pure-blood family. You were raised to think you were better than everyone else around you. You _despised_ those pesky mudbloods and blood-traitors, right? Oh, and don’t even get me started about Muggles.” She cocked her head to the side. Clarke was seething. “You probably have a nice cushy life, right? You’ve never had to deal with hardship. Oh—” She leaned forward mockingly. “—except if you count the time your daddy told you no.”

“You don’t—”

“Know the first thing about you? Trust me, I do. I’ve heard it all before.” Clarke opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying her hardest to force words out. _Nothing came._ Her face was flushed. Her eyes were burning. She could feel her magic sparking under her skin. “You followed your family when they joined the Dark Lord because why not? He wasn’t making life any more difficult for you. In fact, he was making it _better_ for you by taking out those you already hated.”

She snapped at that. “If you know so much about me, then why am I here?” Clarke hissed, leaning forward. She was tempted to reach for her wand, but held back. She _needed_ to stay here. She risked everything — her life and her relationship with Bellamy — to get here. She couldn’t fuck it up by trying to kill their host on the first night. “Tell me, Diyoza, if I joined the Dark Lord so willingly, why am I here?”

Diyoza leaned forward, silent challenge in her eyes. “Because this is your last choice. You left your precious Dark Lord when his ideals no longer were convenient to you. You have nowhere else to run. You need somewhere to hide.” She smiled. “Am I right?”

Truthfully, Clarke’s heart stung from just how right she was. If this was three months earlier, Diyoza would’ve almost been spot on. When Clarke arrived at Kane’s house, it was because she had nowhere else to run.

“You don’t know me,” Clarke hissed, her voice low. “I’ll admit; I wasn’t the best person in the past. I didn’t stand for what I believed in because I was scared and stupid. When I first got to an Order safe house, yeah, the only reason I showed up was because I was on the run and needed somewhere to hide. But you don’t know why I left. You don’t know what I’ve done since then. You don’t know what I’ve been doing my whole fucking life.”

“Then tell me. If I’m so off the mark, change that.”

Clarke’s chest was heaving. Her hands were in fists at her sides. Why did McGonagall tell her to come to this safe house if the woman in charge wouldn’t believe her? Why did McGonagall send her here if Diyoza believed she was a monster?

“You’re right; I am privileged. I come from a family of pure blood. I had the privilege of _floating_ through life untouched, even though I never publicly aligned myself with You-Know-Who. I didn’t have to fight to stay safe while at Hogwarts. Nobody ever questioned if I was worthy of magic. I didn’t have to think about blood prejudice for a long time. I’m _extremely_ privileged.” She swallowed thickly. “But I never agreed with what my mother believed in. I never thought I was better than anyone. I never believed in _his_ agenda.

“But you were right when you said the only reason I came to the Order was because it was my last option. I ran away from home in the summer because I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand to be in the same building as _them_ and do nothing about it. I couldn’t keep pretending that none of what they did mattered. I couldn’t sit there and do nothing anymore. I didn’t leave with the intentions of coming to the Order. And even when I got to Kane’s safe house, I only planned to stay there until the world calmed down enough so I could go on my own. I was using the safe houses as places to hide. I was running.

“And, yes, that was only three months ago, but _I’m so different now._ So much has changed. You already think you know me, and whatever I say right now isn’t going to really change that, but I am here because I want to be here. I’m not running away from the fight anymore; I want to help. The world is so fucked up, and You-Know-Who’s reign needs to come to an end. I know I can’t just sit back and let others do the work. Even though it’s terrifying, I know that _I_ can do things — small things — to help. So I will. I plan to fight and help, in whatever way I can. _That’s_ why I’m here; so I can do good, not because I want to hide. If I wanted to hide, I would’ve stayed in the woods.”

Clarke’s chest was heaving by the time she finished. She could still feel anger within her, but she felt lighter, too — almost as if just speaking those words out loud removed a weight from her soul. She didn’t think Diyoza would understand, even though she poured her heart into her words, but she was oddly at peace with that.

Finally, Diyoza smiled — not like before, where she was cocky and smug, but one that she could tell was genuine. Even her eyes seemed to soften.

“Good,” she said simply.

Clarke gaped at her. “That’s it? You don’t think I’m one of them?”

“I never thought you were one of them,” she told her. “McGonagall wouldn’t have sent you here if you were a Death Eater. I do this with everyone who comes into my house, Griffin, just to make sure you have your priorities straight.”

“What?”

“I was provoking you,” Diyoza explained. “I wanted to see what your true intentions are, what your perspectives are, where you sit in this war.” When Clarke didn’t show any acknowledgement, she continued. “I was testing you.”

“Testing me?”

“Yeah. You passed, by the way.” She grinned. “I like your passion. You’re fiery.”

Clarke wasn’t impressed. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. She felt overly exposed. “Nice,” she said dryly. “You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“People tend to be truthful when they’re angry. Sorry.” She didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “McGonagall assured me you were a good person — that you were here for the right reasons — but I needed to make sure myself.” Clarke’s expression didn’t change and Diyoza rolled her eyes. “Don’t take it so personally.”

“Right. How else am I supposed to take it then?”

“We’re at war. You lot are dangerous and high-profile. I need to be cautious and thorough. I can’t just take the word of others, even if that word is from McGonagall herself.” Diyoza shifted forward. “I know this isn’t your first house, but things work different around here.”

“I can tell.” This woman — and this house — was nothing like Kane’s.

A deep ache was growing within her. She missed Kane so much that it hurt. He was so good and understanding and trustworthy.

_And he was dead._

Clarke had to fight back the tears.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Diyoza said after a long moment. “I’m Diyoza. You’re Griffin. I’m a Slytherin, you’re a Slytherin. You need a place to stay, I provide that. I think we’ve got the basics down, don’t you?”

Ah, so she was a Slytherin. It made sense. So far, all Diyoza’s done was provoke her into telling her deepest truth. It was manipulative, sneaky, and cunning.

Yeah, she was a Slytherin alright.

“Sure.” Clarke tried to push down her annoyance for the woman. What she did was smart, even if she didn’t like it. She blew out a long breath. “You’re right.”

“Okay. We’re good?” Clarke nodded and Diyoza continued speaking. “Good. Like I said, this is a different safe house than Kane’s was. That’s where you were before this, right? You were with Reyes?” Clarke nodded again. “His safe house was one that anybody could go to. If you were part of the groups the Dark Lord was targeting — Muggle-borns, half-bloods, anyone who didn’t believe in his shit — you could go to his safe house.”

This made sense. Monty, Harper, Raven, and Bellamy were part of those masses. They weren’t like her in that sense. Posters with her face and name hung around the Wizarding World, teams of Death Eaters were searching for her specifically. Of course, they were still in danger and targets, but they were never called out by name.

“My safe house is different. I deal with more… _complicated_ cases.”

“Complicated?”

“Take you, for instance. You’re _extremely_ complicated — no offense. You’re the daughter of a known and high ranking Death Eater and you defected. You have specifically been targeted for _months_ because of that.” Clarke nodded. “Those that are sent here are like you — their names are known to the Death Eaters and people are looking for them _specifically._

“There’s four of you here now. It used to be just one other, but he was challenging enough on his own. Then, Reyes was added in mid-November. Now, you and Blake.” Diyoza stood and Clarke followed. “You’ll be bunking with Reyes, hope you two don’t have some weird rivalry going on and try to kill each other while sleeping. Merlin knows I’ve dealt with that more times than any witch should have to.”

There was _a lot_ to unpack with that statement, but she didn’t say anything. Diyoza was strange and slightly terrifying.

Clarke knew she should’ve been eager to room with Raven again. They shared a room back at Kane’s, so she knew Raven was a good roommate and easy to get along with. She was really looking forward to catching up with her again.

 _Even though that was true,_ she couldn’t ignore the way her heart twisted in her chest. The image of her flying past her open arms and reuniting tearfully with Bellamy was fresh and stirred up her emotions. Seeing how open Bellamy was with Raven hurt and almost made her _jealous_ of her.

She pushed those thoughts away. Diyoza stepped around the coffee table and pulled the side doors open, signalling the end of their meeting. Clarke trailed after her.

“The house is split into two levels. Bedrooms and bathroom are upstairs, kitchen and living areas on the bottom floor. Reyes told me that I run the house similar to Kane; you all are responsible for chores, and we do meals together.”

“Do you work?”

She chuckled. “Merlin, I wish my face wasn’t plastered on dozens of posters between here and the Ministry, but… Let’s just say I wasn’t quiet about my stance on this war and left my job as quickly as I could.” Diyoza lead them out of the sitting room and across the front hallway as she spoke. “I used to be an Auror, but then things went to shit, and I got out of there. I’d rather not spend most of my days tracking down other Order members or witches and wizards that don’t agree with our favourite snake.”

“So, you’re around a lot then?”

“I have another house I’m in charge of, so I split my time between here and there. I come and go often, but you all are old enough to take care of yourselves. I try to spend more time with those that are having trouble adjusting to this new life.” Diyoza gestured to the shut door in front of them. “This is the—”

Before she could finish speaking, the door was pushed open. Clarke went rigid. She expected Bellamy or Raven to bump into them, but the reality was much, _much_ worse.

“—kitchen,” the new voice finished. He looked smug at Clarke’s shocked expression. It felt like all the blood had been drained from her body. She was petrified with shock. “Fancy seeing you here, Griffin.”

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.” She took a half-step backwards, her eyes wide and her heart pounding in her chest. “No. Absolutely not.”

She did not travel all this way and risk so much just to have John fucking Murphy in the safe house.

His grin was cocky, clearly having enjoyed her horrified reaction. “Nice to see you, too.”

It was just her luck that _John Murphy_ was at Diyoza’s safe house. The same John Murphy that she hated with every fibre of her being. The same dipshit who was friends with Malfoy, even when he had ink on his inner wrist and tried to kill several of their classmates. The same asshole that hated anyone without pure-blood, and hated anything that had to do with Muggles, and was openly discriminatory. The same guy she punched in the face just last year for calling someone a bitchy mudblood.

That interaction must’ve been subconsciously been driving her actions in that moment because—

“Woah, alright.” Diyoza caught Clarke just before her fist connected with Murphy’s face. Clarke was seething, but didn’t try to fight her arms. Murphy, on the other hand, looked like he was having a great time. He leaned against the kitchen door framed and laughed. “Alright, Murphy, shut the hell up.”

“Aw, come on!” He gestured at Clarke. “This is funny!”

“This is _not_ funny,” Clarke snapped. She surged forward, but Diyoza tightened her grip on her. “Why the _fuck_ are you here, Murphy?”

“I take it that you’re disappointed to see me. Damn.”

“Murphy,” Diyoza snapped. “Quiet.”

“Please, Diyoza, this is what I live for. Our favourite Slytherin Princess being—”

“Shut up.” Clarke struggled in Diyoza’s arms. If her body wasn’t absolutely aching from the fight at Hogwarts, she knew she would’ve been able to free herself from Diyoza’s grasp. “Why are you here Murphy? Why—”

Diyoza must’ve had enough. “Reyes! We need an assist!”

Clarke lunged forward again. Murphy doubled over from laughing so hard. “Fuck you, Murphy. Fuck you, fuck—”

“Woah.” Reyes stood frozen at the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway as she took in the scene.

“Now, Reyes!” 

Diyoza pulled Clarke backwards with a grunt. Raven rushed down the stairs and joined the commotion in the kitchen. Murphy was still laughing. Clarke didn’t know what had come over her, but she was yelling and using all the strength left in her body to try and break free.

Raven took Diyoza’s place in holding Clarke back. Diyoza squeezed between the three of them, coming to stand in between Murphy and Clarke. Her eyes were blazing and her wand drawn. 

“Enough! Both of you!” Clarke fell silent. Raven’s grip dug into her shoulder. “Now, I don’t know what the _fuck_ is going on, but—”

“Don’t worry, Diyoza,” Murphy cut in. “Griffin and I are old friends.” Clarke wished she could’ve dismissed that statement, but she couldn’t. Once, years ago, they _had_ been friends. “This is just how we show our love.”

“I stopped being friends with you the day you stood with _him,”_ Clarke spat.

 _That_ clearly hit its mark. The amusement drained from Murphy’s face. His jaw hardened.

“Like you didn’t stand with him, too,” Murphy accused. “Fuck, I knew you were a hypocrite, Griffin, but—”

Raven looked back and forth between the two of them. “Wait, I’m confused. You two know each other?”

“Unfortunately,” Clarke answered. “We…”

It took a second for Clarke to realize Raven wasn’t even _looking_ at her to answer the question. 

_She was looking at Murphy._

Clarke’s head spun. What was going on here?

“Griffin and I are in the same year and same house. We grew up with each other.” His gaze drifted back to Clarke’s. “It’s safe to say we currently aren’t on the best terms.”

Clarke lunged forward, but Raven’s grip was like iron. Murphy eyed her carefully, like he was studying her every move.

“Best terms?” she echoed, her voice venomous. “Murphy’s a Death Eater.”

Diyoza’s gaze snapped to hers and Raven’s grasp tightened on her arm. “Hold on, Griffin,” Raven said harshly. “You of all people should know not to throw words like that around. Just because he’s a Slytherin—”

Clarke pushed Raven’s hands off of her and stumbled away, no longer caring to get to Murphy. All she could do was stare at the older girl in disgust.

“I’m not saying that because he’s a Slytherin,” Clarke snapped. “Need I remind you that _I’m_ a Slytherin?” She pointed accusingly at Murphy. “I _know_ he’s a Death Eater because I used to be his friend.”

Diyoza was the one to step forward, her eyes harsh. “Griffin, careful here.”

Clarke was at a loss for words. This wasn’t a baseless accusation, like the one Bellamy made when she first arrived at Kane’s. She grew up with Murphy. She spent every day with him for nearly six years. She watched as he slowly descended into the world filled with dark magic and dark lords and dark marks. She _knew_ him.

“But—”

“Griffin,” Diyoza snapped again. “Enough.” She glanced around the small group before letting out a sigh. “Reyes, why don’t you show Griffin to your room? And… keep her there until we’re all cooled down.”

Clarke scoffed and rounded on the Order member. “Oh, really? What, I’m on lock down now? I’m a prisoner?”

“Is she always like this?” Diyoza asked, her gaze remaining locked on Raven’s.

“I couldn’t say.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “Well, I can. She didn’t get the nickname ‘princess’ for nothing, I’ll say that much.”

Before Clarke could lash out on Murphy again, Raven gripped her elbow and began hauling her towards the staircase. As she walked, she couldn’t take her gaze off of Murphy. He watched her go, the amusement from earlier completely evaporated. His arms were crossed across his chest and his expression twisted into a scowl. Funnily enough, seeing him like _this_ was more normal than seeing him laughing.

“You know— Shit.” Clarke’s shoulder connected with something solid and she stumbled back a few paces. Raven kept her fingers hooked on her arm. She turned around to see what she ran into, and— “Oh. Hi.”

Bellamy’s lips were pressed tightly together and his expression was unreadable. He leaned away from her and crossed his arms. The adrenaline she felt moments ago while attacking Murphy drained away, leaving her feeling empty and cold. Seeing Bellamy so distant was like a knife to the gut.

“Nice show, Griffin,” he said, his voice rough and sarcastic.

And, with that, he turned and continued on his way down the narrow hallway. Clarke watched his retreating back, her heart lodged in her throat and her eyes burning.

Raven was the one to break the silence. “Same old, same old.” She tugged on her elbow. “Come on, let’s go.”

Clarke let Raven drag her up the stairs.

* * *

“Fuck!”

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind Clarke, she tugged her arm out of Raven’s grasp and made her way to the bare bed across the room. 

The set-up of the bedroom was similar to Kane’s house, with two single beds on opposite ends of the room and two nightstands. On what was clearly Raven’s side of the room, she had her possessions scattered across the bed and nightstand. Clarke wasn’t sure how long the older girl had been at Diyoza’s safe house for, but it looked like she already settled in.

Clarke sat down on the bare mattress, her head falling to her hands. She couldn’t settle on a single emotion to feel. It felt like she was the shore of the sea during a storm; soggy in the saddest way, and getting pummeled by waves repeatedly. 

“Well that was… something.” Clarke didn’t look up from her hands when Raven spoke. She heard her shuffle across the room and sink onto her bed.

Clarke was confused. And angry. And upset. And stupidly jealous. But mainly confused.

“Fucking hell,” Clarke groaned. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sucked in a few deep breaths. “Tell me I imagined this whole day. Tell me that _I’m_ the one with a high fever and I’m just hallucinating all of this.”

“Unfortunately, no. This is real.” She could feel Raven’s eyes on her, studying her. Clarke wanted to snap at her, but, then again, she didn’t do anything wrong. Taking out her frustration on her wouldn’t be right.

(Even if part of her hurt and confusion came from seeing Bellamy open up a side to himself to Raven, when he didn’t do so for her.)

Silence filled the room. It was tense and awkward, and Clarke _despised it._ When she was on the run, she almost forgot about how uneasy her friendship — if she could even call it that — with Raven was.

She felt like crying. There was a strange sense of loss growing in her the more she thought about Raven. When it was just her and Bellamy in the woods, there wasn’t much to do, and she spent more time than she’d care to admit thinking of her housemates. Did she think of Raven so much that she fabricated their whole relationship? Did she idealize their time spent together just so she could survive?

Maybe she did. Maybe her ‘friendship’ with Raven was non-existent. Maybe she only focused on the good memories she had with the girl when she was on the run, doing so to pass the time easily.

It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was how strained and awkward everything was.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” Raven said after a long moment. She shifted on her bed uneasily. “I’m glad you and Bellamy are okay.”

Right. 

Bellamy.

Just hearing her speak his name caused her heart to give a painful lurch. 

_She hated herself for it._

“Mhmm,” Clarke mumbled, still refusing to pull her face from her hands. Her face was burning — she could feel it. She couldn’t tell if it was from anger, or jealousy, or embarrassment. Maybe it was a mix of all three. 

Clarke knew that Raven and Bellamy were really close. Not only were they at Kane’s safe house longer than she was, but they _also_ were on the run with each other before that. Bellamy held her when she sobbed after losing her boyfriend — Clarke remembered hearing that painful story from him one night. And, even before they were joined by shared grief and fear, they were friends at Hogwarts.

 _She knew they were close friends,_ but she couldn’t ebb the burn of jealousy that scorched her veins. It was a selfish thought, but _she_ wanted to be the person Bellamy opened up to when he was hurting. _She thought she was that person._ Yet, three seconds with Raven managed to reveal a side to him that he was concealing from her.

Raven, once again, broke the silence.

“Listen, Griffin… Diyoza and Murphy really aren’t that bad,” she told her. “After everything that happened at Kane’s safe house and the attack—” She cleared her throat. “—I have been with them. They’re… _good,_ once you get used to them. Just give them a chance.”

Clarke looked at her, desperate to convey the truth. “He’s a _Death Eater,_ Raven. I don’t think this is a matter of me getting used to him or not.”

Clarke didn’t expect Raven to laugh and shake her head fondly, like they were two friends sharing an inside joke. She couldn’t decide to be disgusted or amused by her reaction.

“This is just… really, really familiar,” Raven said, still smiling. “When _you_ showed up at Kane’s house, I had this exact same conversation with Bellamy.” She raised an eyebrow. “Funny, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Clarke didn’t like what she was implying. Back then, Bellamy was a dick. He didn’t know the first thing about her, yet he judged her. He made assumptions based off of rumours and stereotypes. This was different. She wasn’t anything like Bellamy.

“You don’t understand,” Clarke insisted. “I’ve known Murphy since I was a kid. I know him and his choices.”

Raven looked disappointed. “I know, but…” She glanced at the door and sighed. “I know I should really let him tell you his story when he’s ready, but you’re about ready to kill him, so…”

“I wouldn’t kill him,” she said quickly.

Raven didn’t look convinced.

“When I first got to Diyoza’s safe house, it was the day after the attack at Kane’s, and I was — frankly — a mess. Monty and Harper were sent to a different safe house, because Diyoza didn’t have enough room at the time. Kane was murdered right in front of me. Bellamy was missing, and I thought he was dead or worse. You were gone, too. I had nobody to turn to.” She leaned against the wall. “Murphy was here, and it was _him_ who helped me get through everything. 

“I was hesitant to trust him at first because I knew he used to hang out with Malfoy, and I heard Malfoy was the reason Death Eaters were let into the castle last spring.” She grimaced at the memory. “But… He isn’t a Death Eater, Griffin. He can be an ass, but he’s not a monster. He’s made bad choices before, I don’t disagree with you there, but he realized he was wrong, and he’s here now. Isn’t that what Kane told the three of us when you first arrived? He wouldn’t be here unless he absolutely needed to be. He wouldn’t be here unless he was like us — on the opposite side of the war to You-Know-Who, and being hunted for it.” Raven cocked her eyebrow. “Right?”

Clarke had to admit, she had a point. McGonagall had been here only minutes ago and she must’ve seen Murphy on her way in; if she didn’t trust him, she wouldn’t have let him stay in an Order safe house. 

Diyoza also mentioned that her safe house was meant for people _specifically_ being targeted by You-Know-Who. It made sense why she was there, with her mother looking for her. It also made sense why Bellamy was there, considering his face was now plastered on posters across Wizarding Britain. With Murphy here, that must’ve meant he was being targeted by Death Eaters, too.

But Clarke didn’t know if she could believe it yet. The boy she knew was cruel and on the path to becoming a Death Eater. He bullied Muggle-borns, and used the word mudblood, and hung out with people she _knew_ were Death Eaters — like Malfoy and Goyle. 

So, she changed the subject.

“What about Diyoza? She’s… interesting.”

Raven laughed. “Merlin, you could say that. Did she do the whole ‘accuse you of being a terrible person to make you tell her all your deep feelings’ thing? I swear, I was mad at her for a whole week after that.” Clarke grinned. “I mean, I get it, but ouch.”

“Other than that, I don’t know much about her.”

“She’s a badass,” Raven said. “She used to be an Auror, right, so she gets us to do these wicked training exercises. You remember how Kane had that huge training room? Yeah, Diyoza doesn’t have that. She just sets the two of us up in her living room and tells us to have at it.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “What!?”

“I know. The first time she locked Murphy and I in a room together and told us to fight, I was confused. Then, Murphy used my hesitation against me, stunned me and won. Now, I don’t give him the advantage.”

“Diyoza makes us fight each other? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“She calls it practical applications of dueling. Apparently, if we’re fighting a Death Eater, they _won’t_ shake hands and bow before they try to kill us. Who knew!” It was getting easier for Clarke to laugh. “It’s helpful though. Kane taught us a lot of good skills, and this is a good way to apply them against another person.”

Clarke’s smile faded when she thought of their previous mentor. Raven’s smile grew sadder, too.

“I… I can’t believe he’s gone,” Clarke admitted slowly. Her throat grew tight with emotion and she struggled to keep her tears at bay. “I mean, he’s really gone?”

Raven’s head hit the wall with a thump. Her expression had shifted completely from what it was only a few seconds before. She looked just as pained as Clarke felt.

“Yeah, he’s really gone.” Raven closed her eyes and pulled on the hem of her shirt. “That night we were attacked… It was chaotic. Monty and Harper got out first, and I stayed behind to try and help Kane. We didn’t know how many of them were attacking, and I thought— I thought we could just take out those that were there, and things would go back to normal.” She laughed dryly. “That didn’t happen. He told me to go and, right before I did, I saw him fall.” She reopened my eyes. “I blamed myself for a really long time. I thought ‘if only I didn’t listen to him, I would’ve still been fighting beside him and could’ve stopped the spell that hit him.’ McGonagall had to talk me out of that one — thank Merlin for that woman.” She shook her head and continued speaking. “We had no idea if you two managed to get out or not, and there was no way to get to you. Trust me, Kane and I tried. But… They were on the stairs, and things were happening, and—”

“We couldn’t get to you either,” Clarke assured her. “Bellamy tried to get to you guys, too, but I wouldn’t let him. The front hall was overwhelmed with Death Eaters, and we were surrounded from the back door, too. Somehow, I managed to convince him to come with me. He regretted it though. He regretted leaving you guys there. He regretted not doing more to help.”

Raven’s smirk was bitter. “Yeah, well, that’s Bellamy.” She blew out a long breath and forced a smile onto her lips. “Speaking of, you two were together this whole time?”

Suddenly, Clarke was _sure_ Octavia stabbed her in the gut instead of punched her in the face. That was why her whole body felt like it was broken, right? It was because she had a stab wound and _not_ because her heart was broken, right?

Right.

“Uhm, yeah.” Clarke leaned against the wall and locked her gaze on a speck of dirt on the ceiling. “We got out of Kane’s together, and we’ve been together ever since.”

(Except for earlier today, when I abandoned him and went on a mission by myself.)

“Merlin,” Raven breathed, sounding amused. “You two alone for over a month? I’m surprised both of you came back alive.”

“Yeah. Well.” Clarke wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I know you two didn’t always get along back at Kane’s, but you guys were _starting_ to become friends before everything went to hell. He’s not as bad as you thought, right?”

Clarke could’ve told her how she was completely, utterly, and hopelessly in love with him. She could’ve told her how, with him, she felt like she could be herself. She could’ve told her that things never felt more normal, or more safe, or more _right_ than it did with him.

But she didn’t.

“No. He isn’t.”

“But, honestly, I’m really surprised you two managed to live with each other for over a month without trying to kill each other. That’s like… a major improvement.” Raven wrinkled her nose. “I love him, but, Merlin, I think I would’ve been bored half to death if I spent that much time with him and him alone. What were you guys up to? How the hell did you guys do it? ”

Clarke thought of the silly balancing games they played, and the nights they spent under the stars, and the days they stayed in bed until noon. She thought of practicing wandless magic with him, and listening to Muggle music, and dancing in the snow. She thought about how content she was, even though it was boring and frustrating at times.

Her smile was forced. She hoped Raven couldn’t tell. “I don’t know,” she said. “We just took it one day at a time, I guess.”

That was as close to the truth Clarke was going to get that night. Luckily, Raven didn’t press any further.

* * *

By the time exhaustion settled in, the sun had set and Raven had disappeared. The house was silent, but Clarke couldn’t tell if that was because of magic or if people _were_ truly quiet. She tried to imagine what everyone would be up to, but she didn’t know anyone well enough to make a guess.

Except for Bellamy.

Clarke studied the cracks on the bedroom ceiling as she thought of him. It must’ve been several hours since she passed him in the hallway, and she hadn’t heard from him. 

Clarke couldn’t get her head around it.

She knew Bellamy was going to be upset with her, ever since she decided the previous day to do the mission alone. Asking him to _not_ be upset and feel betrayed was out of the question because she knew how much her actions would’ve hurt her if their positions had been reversed. 

If she knew he was going to be upset, why did it still hurt? If she understood why he was disappointed and hurt, why did him avoiding her make her chest feel like it was caving in?

She saw his side of things, she really did. She left him. She made decisions for the both of them. She didn’t talk to him about it. She just… _did_ it.

Clarke may have understood his point of view, but that didn’t mean she thought she was wrong. She _knew_ she was right. The mission needed to be done, and she ensured it happened, regardless of the personal consequences it had.

She thought of how he looked so lost and betrayed in the forest and it felt like someone stabbed her heart. Then, she thought about how distant and closed off he was while they walked through the Muggle neighbourhood, and somehow _that_ hurt even more.

Clarke pushed herself off the bed and paced the small space between her and Raven’s beds.

She wished he understood. She wished he wasn’t currently ignoring her so she could explain things. Her decision had been reasonable, and he’d come around to it eventually, right?

It hurt even more to think about how he was avoiding her. At first, when they were walking to Diyoza’s, she thought he didn’t know what to say. Hell, _she_ didn’t know what to say either. But she had been wrong, obviously. As soon as they got in the house, they barely spoke two words to each other. He passed her on the stairs like she was a stranger. He knew where her room was, but he didn’t come see her.

She tried to imagine how different things would’ve been if he wasn’t mad at her. How he would’ve been the one to hold her back from punching Murphy, how he would’ve smiled at her as they passed on the staircase, how he would’ve slipped into her room and laughed with her about everything.

She wanted that. She wanted to get back to that. She wanted to share things with him, and talk to him, and _be_ with him.

Whatever. If he wanted to do the silent treatment, then fine. _She_ wasn’t going to apologize for doing something that was for the greater good. He was the one that needed to realize that, sometimes, the greater good hurt.

Clarke reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose to stem her frustration. A sharp jolt came from where her fingers connected with her flesh and she gasped.

 _Right._ The fight at Hogwarts. She hadn’t performed any healing charm on herself yet, only took a pain potion after meeting with McGonagall. 

Clarke glared at her shut bedroom door. Diyoza did tell her to stay put until everyone cooled down, which was ridiculous, but it wasn’t like there was someone around to stop her. Besides, ‘I need to heal my face from where a Death Eater tried to break it’ sounded like a solid excuse.

She grabbed her wand and left her room before she could change her mind.

Considering she didn’t know the layout of the house at all, finding the bathroom was an interesting experience. She knew it was on the same floor that her bedroom was on, so she wandered down the hallway, hoping she wouldn’t walk past Diyoza’s open door.

To her relief, every door was closed, so she didn’t have an awkward encounter. The only problem that came with that was the fact _all the fucking doors were closed,_ and she didn’t know which one belonged to the bathroom.

She took her chances with the one that didn’t have carpet leading under the door. Clarke pushed the door open, and—

“Oh.”

 _‘Oh’_ was all she managed to say when she came face to face with Bellamy. He was standing in front of the sink, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He locked eyes with her in the reflection of the mirror.

“Hi.”

Clarke didn’t know what to do. She was frozen in the doorframe of the bathroom, absolutely horrified. She really, really wasn’t meaning — or wanting — to bump into Bellamy right now, especially not when she was still so confused about everything, especially not when everything was so fresh.

Bellamy pulled the toothbrush from his mouth. “Hi.” He turned to face her. “I couldn’t figure out how to use the door lock.”

“Oh.” Clarke glanced down the hallway in the way she came. Would it be too awkward if she attempted to make an escape? Or would it be even _more_ awkward if she stayed? What the hell was she supposed to say to him? “Don’t ask me. I, uh, have been banished to my room.”

“Right.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

His gaze skimmed over her. His expression was blank. Clarke wanted to scream.

Then, he turned back to the sink and continued brushing his teeth. Clarke narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. He was still ignoring her and _it was really frustrating._ She got it — she really did — but _she also really hated it._

Why couldn’t he understand?

Clarke huffed. Bellamy eyed her closely as she moved across the room to sit on the edge of the bathtub. The bathroom door shut behind her. The porcelain was cold against her legs, and the ledge was really too small to be sitting on, and the shower curtain was wet against her arm but, _damn it,_ she was going to sit here until Bellamy stopped glaring at her.

Except, she didn’t say anything when she barged into the bathroom, and Bellamy looked at her clearly confused.

“Uh. Okay.”

Clarke glared at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were just two strangers meeting for the first time.” She tapped her fingers against the edge of the bathtub and watched as his expression shifted. “You can say more than two words to me, you know.”

He spat into the sink and turned to her. His hair hung close to his face with dampness from a shower, and his expression was guarded. His eyes scanned her form, and she could’ve sworn she saw a crack in his walls. He looked almost hesitant.

“You haven’t been healed?” he asked, his eyes coming to rest on hers again. Clarke lost some of the heat from the concern in his voice. She had been expecting anger or distance, not _this._ It made her chest warm.

“No.” She sighed and dropped her head to her hands, no longer able to look at him. She was so _tired._ “After I tried to punch Murphy, I was sent to my room.” She laughed dryly. Today sucked. It was mostly her fault too, but that didn’t make it suck any less.

Bellamy sank to his knees in front of her. She saw his torso between her fingers and feel his body heat against her knees. The closeness made her want to sob. She was so confused and frustrated and upset. 

“Don’t,” she croaked, her voice thick with emotion. She blinked rapidly to clear her tears. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Your face is swollen and you have dried blood on your neck.” He reached forward tentatively, but held back inches from her shoulder. Clarke’s throat constricted.

“I’m fine.” 

Finally, she pulled her face from her hands to look at him. When their eyes connected, she felt the last of her strength crumble away. It took everything in her not to openly cry. There was something about being in his presence that made her feel so safe and so open. It was hard not to let her emotions win in that moment.

“I can help, let me just—”

Clarke’s lips twisted. “You’re mad at me, Bellamy. Don’t try and pretend otherwise.”

The warmth drained from his expression and she almost regretted saying anything at all. “I’m not pretending about anything,” he said, his tone clipped and even. “I _am_ mad at you. I’m pissed off, actually, and hurt, and I _really don’t want to get into it._ But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you hurt.” This time, when he reached for her, he let his fingers brush against her forearm. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying. “You’re injured, Clarke. It doesn’t matter if I’m mad at you, or you’re mad at me, or we hate each other, or _anything._ I’m not going to let you hurt if there’s something I can do to help.”

“‘Hate each other,’” Clarke echoed, her voice wobbling. Her vision blurred. Her throat burned. “You hate me?”

And _that_ was when her composure broke. She quickly tried to wipe away the traitorous tears that managed to find their way onto her cheeks, but — as soon as the first ones come — more and more followed.

Bellamy took her wand out of her hand and set it on the floor, but said nothing. His hands were warm on her knees. Clarke flinched when her fingers rubbed against her wounded skin when she tried to wipe her tears away.

“Here,” Bellamy said, his voice low. “Let me help you.”

She managed a nod.

He picked up her wand off the floor and got to work on healing the wounds he could reach. As he worked on sealing the scrapes across her arms, Clarke tried to regain her composure. She blew out a few long breaths and swiped at her cheeks.

Bellamy’s gaze was intense and focused. His mouth was pressed in a thin line and his expression was unreadable. His fingers were gentle on her skin and he performed the healing spells with ease.

Clarke couldn’t stand to watch him. She didn’t want to see his stunning eyes, or look at the freckles on his cheeks, or stare at his forearms under his rolled up sleeves. She couldn’t because — if she did — she knew she wouldn’t be able to contain her emotions.

He worked in silence for several minutes. Somehow, he managed to find even the smallest injuries, like the swelling in her knuckles, and the scrape behind her elbow. When both her legs and her right arm were completely healed and he was onto her left, she could feel his eyes on hers. She avoiding his gaze.

“I don’t hate you,” he told her. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m mad.” Bellamy’s jaw muscles rippled. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? But I’m just… angry. Disappointed. _Hurt.”_ His tone was growing more and more strained. He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He finished healing her left arm and shifted closer, moving so he could heal her face. She couldn’t avoid his gaze now, not when he was so close that she could feel his breath against her skin. They locked eyes for a brief moment.

He looked away and continued to heal her face. She felt cuts stitch back together, and bruises fade, and aches sooth.

She couldn’t look away from him. Her wand was pressed against her lip and his thumb rested on her chin when she next spoke. “I never meant to hurt you,” she told him, her lips barely moving. “ _Nothing_ I did was meant to hurt you.”

Their gaze met for a fleeting moment, then he was focusing on her nose. His touch left her face.

“But you did. You hurt me.” Her heart lurched. “What you did was… _reckless,_ Clarke. It was reckless, and unfair, and— Fuck. You could have died! Do you realize that? You could have—” He sat backwards and blew out a long breath. Clarke didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to argue with him, and she knew he didn’t want to argue with her. “It was _really_ unfair. It was something _we_ were supposed to do, as a team. Do you know what teams do? They _talk_ to each other. They _consult_ each other. They decide things together. You did the complete opposite of that.”

“I know.”

“You, what, you decided when you woke up that it would be easier for you to do it alone? You just—”

“No,” she snapped. Bellamy frowned. “Do you think it was an easy decision for me? It wasn’t. I didn’t _want_ to do it, but I _had_ to.”

“And do you think it was easy for me? To sit in a _fucking tent_ while you were out there, facing Death Eaters? No. Doing nothing was one of the hardest things I could do.” His walls were slowly coming down. He looked exhausted and _so hurt._ Clarke wanted to cry again. “How am I supposed to trust that you won’t do that again? That you won’t leave me because you think it’s for the greater good?”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but she didn’t know what to say. Could she leave him again if she justified that it was for the greater good? If another situation came up where she’d have to leave him, could she?

She didn’t know.

“Bellamy—”

“And, if that wasn’t enough, you come back and tell me you saw Octavia? And you _left her behind?”_

“She wanted—” Clarke stopped speaking. All they were doing was arguing, and that was only making things worse. She blew out a calming breath. “I _tried_ to get her to come back, but she refused. You weren’t there, Bellamy, so you don’t know—”

“You’re right,” he snapped. He stood up abruptly. “I wasn’t there, Clarke. Do you know why I wasn’t there? Because _you left me.”_ His laugh tore a hole in her heart. “And, the funny thing is, _if_ you didn’t _leave me,_ I would have _seen her._ I would have _fucking reunited with her.”_

_… Oh._

Clarke felt like she had been punched in the gut with Bellamy’s words because _that was something she hadn’t even thought of._

“If you didn’t follow through with your brilliant plan — if we followed _our_ plan — I would’ve been able to see my sister.” She could see tears gathering in his eyes. His voice cracked with emotion. “Do you know how _much_ I want that? How _badly_ I wanted that? And the decision that _you made alone_ took that away from me.”

He turned his back to her.

Clarke couldn’t breathe. She gripped the edge of the tub and tried to keep the world from spinning. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she felt sick. She could see his pain, she could _feel_ it. She could barely get the words out.

“Bellamy, I—”

“I can’t do this, Clarke.” He didn’t turn to look at her. “I need time.”

Her reply was empty. Her eyes were burning. “Time?”

“I think we should spend some time apart from each other.” When he turned back to look at her, his expression was blank. “We should take a step back.”

“A step back,” she echoed. The words were bitter. Hurt was blossoming in her chest and winding its way through her body. _She ached._ “We’re— we’re breaking up?” Before he could answer, she was speaking again. “Well, no, not breaking up, because there was never anything there to begin with. Right?”

It all made sense now. Clarke couldn’t believe she thought otherwise, especially with the way he worded things earlier, and the way he had been avoiding her since they got to Diyoza’s.

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Clarke laughed unpleasantly. “That’s what you told me back at the campsite, isn’t it? Although, you phrased it _much_ more elegantly. I believe you said we were ‘just sleeping together.’” She could barely keep her tone even. “So, that’s it then? We were just sleeping together and now we’re not? We were just together for convenience and to pass the time and now… Now… That’s it? We’re done?”

Just speaking those words out loud felt like a knife twisting inside her. _Merlin,_ it hurt.

Bellamy took a step towards her, his expression unreadable. “Clarke, that’s—”

“Jesus fuck.” 

The bathroom door flew open and none other than _John fucking Murphy_ was standing in the doorway. 

His gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them, his eyes wide, and his lips slightly parted. Clarke quickly wiped the tears that were forming out of her eyes and Bellamy stiffened beside her.

“Does nobody fucking _knock_ in this house? Fucking hell.” With that, Bellamy blew passed Murphy and disappeared down the hallway. 

Clarke was too shocked to call out for him — which was something she’d come to regret. All she could do was stare at the man in the door in horror. 

Murphy, on the other hand, glared at Bellamy’s retreating back for a long moment before turning to her. His expression turned awkward. Clarke was having a hard time fighting tears.

“Uh.” He shifted awkwardly. “You okay, Griffin?”

Clarke reached forward and slammed the bathroom door before breaking into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell in the comments!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	26. Chapter 25: Cockroaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning about this chapter: heavy themes are discussed, including manipulative parents, prejudice, and threats of death. 
> 
> The first half has dark themes, but there is some much needed fluff near the end!
> 
> Enjoy

**_CLARKE_ **

_January 6, 1998_

* * *

Clarke’s hand _hurt._ She didn’t realize someone could develop so many blisters from writing with a quill. She’d gone through so much parchment that Diyoza was starting to get pissed off. Her back ached from being hunched over for hours at a time. Her forehead throbbed.

She flexed her hand and re-read the page of notes she made. A list of her classmates’ families filled the page, along with a few paragraphs about them. She talked about the Malfoys, and how they supported You-Know-Who for as long as she could remember. She wrote about Blaise, and how he _seemed_ like a good person, but she stopped talking to him before the end of the school year, so she didn’t really know anymore. She talked about the Nott family, and how Theo always talked about how high his father was in You-Know-Who’s ranks.

And she talked about Pansy. It was hard to write about that one, considering she once called Pansy her best friend. They split the girls’ dormitory together back at Hogwarts, and were really close when they were young.

Then again, they _all_ had been really close when they were young. Not because they were all supporters of _him,_ but because they were kids that grew up together and then all wore green robes. They were like her family.

She pushed her paper away. 

That was a long time ago.

The one thing bothering Clarke was the fact she couldn’t remember all the names of Adrian Pucey’s family. He was a few years older than her, and they never really interacted, other than when they overlapped on the Quidditch team for a year. But she _knew_ his family financially supported You-Know-Who. It would be important to tell McGonagall their names.

_She needed to tell her their names._

Once the ink was dry, she shuffled that paper onto the growing stack on the corner of her night table. For the last two days, she had been writing down everything she could think of — every name, every family, every supporter. She didn’t know if it would help, but it was a start, and it was better than sitting in Diyoza’s house, bored out of her mind.

It wasn’t like she was locked in her room. She could leave whenever she wanted. In fact, she had been _urged_ to come out of her room more by Raven and Diyoza. She ate with the group at meals, but she tried to avoid everyone other than that.

(More like, she tried to avoid him.)

It was easier not to be around him. Things were so messed up. How could things get so confusing so quickly? Earlier this week, she was certain of where they stood. Now, she didn’t know if they’d ever get back to working together or being friends — never mind back to what they used to be.

She replayed their last conversation a lot. How he still healed her, even if he was mad. How he didn’t want to talk about it — and she didn’t want to talk about it — but _they still fucking talked about it._ How things went downhill so fast, and she said some _really shitty things._ She regretted what she said almost instantly. Merlin, why did she say such stupid things when she was upset? Clarke could picture the way his face fell _perfectly_ — the image was practically seared into her mind, and she remembered how her heart constricted and she felt like throwing up, and—

What the fuck was that guy’s name?

Clarke clenched her jaw and paced around her room. Why couldn’t she remember Adrian’s father’s name? It was important. She should remember. She _needed_ to remember. The whole reason she was in this safe house was because she wanted to help the Order, but how could she do that if she couldn’t _remember his fucking name?_

Her head hurt.

Clarke needed to take a break.

With that, she grabbed the piece of parchment and headed towards the kitchen. Diyoza was gone for the day, leaving the four of them alone in the house. It was strange how fragmented everything felt, especially compared to the community Kane’s house had been. As she walked down the hall and stairs, she didn’t hear anyone.

It was like she was living with ghosts.

Her eyes scanned the list of names again, hoping the context would help jog her memory. _Lucious, Gregory, Vincent…_

She pushed the door to the kitchen open and, over the edge of the paper, she saw _him._ He was hunched over the small table in the corner of the room, a bowl of cereal in front of him and their Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook from fourth year held open in his left hand. As soon as she entered the kitchen, he glanced up and they locked eyes.

“Griffin,” Murphy greeted. He blew a piece of his hair away from his eyes lazily.

She hadn’t been avoiding him, except… that was exactly what she was doing. Not only did she not trust him, but he knew something was going on between her and Bellamy, and she really didn’t want to explain it.

“Hi.” 

Clarke folded the piece of parchment before he could see what she was doing. Maybe he _wasn’t_ a Death Eater — she trusted the women in the house to have figured out that much — but she didn’t know where he stood. Was he just running, like she had been when she first arrived in the Order safe houses, or did he feel like he truly belonged on this side of the war?

Murphy had always been one to put himself first. If something could guarantee his survival, he’d do it. It was hard to trust a cockroach like him.

 _Well,_ Clarke decided, _this is really fucking awkward._

They were just _staring_ at each other. Clarke hovered in the doorway and Murphy hadn’t turned back to his book.

Great.

She was the one to break the stand-off. With a sigh, she continued her way into the kitchen and shoved the piece of paper into her pocket. When she pulled open the fridge, Murphy chuckled under his breath.

She turned to him, her eyebrow raised. “Something funny?”

“I just never thought I’d see the great Clarke Griffin going to make herself food.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I never thought I’d see the _great_ John Murphy sitting in a Muggle kitchen eating Lucky Charms, but here we are.”

Murphy grinned at that, like they were two friends sharing a joke, not two people who had fallen out years ago taking stabs at each other.

Clarke pulled out the carton of juice and moved towards the cupboards. 

She quickly realized her next problem.

She had no idea where anything was located in Diyoza’s kitchen.

At least at Kane’s, she had began to get a sense of where everything was stored by the time it was her turn to cook dinners. 

Before she could begin to wonder where the drinking glasses were kept, Murphy spoke. “Check the cupboard to your left.”

She was half tempted to do the exact opposite of his suggestion. Maybe it was petty, but the last thing she wanted to do was follow Murphy’s advice.

She ended up following through with his suggestion, and pulled a glass down. She eyed him carefully. “Uh. Thanks.”

She could hear Murphy’s chewing from across the room. Could he be any more annoying?

She tried her best to ignore him. She took the creased parchment from her pocket and read it over a few times. Maybe she could ask Raven if she knew of any memory charms. There had to be something out there that could make her remember, right?

It was driving her mad. She could feel his name on the tip of her tongue. Arden? Aaron? Andrew?

“I can’t tell if you’re about to cry or pass out,” Murphy commented. Clarke’s eyes flew open and she scowled. His textbook was firmly closed beside him and he was openly watching her. 

“Neither. I’m trying to think. It probably would be a lot easier without you burning a hole in my head, thank you very much.”

Murphy looked amused. “Merlin, Griffin. You even _talk_ like a Muggle.” He shrugged. “I’m not stopping you from thinking. If you wanted to be alone, then go somewhere else. I was here first.”

“You sound like a child.”

“Childhood always suited me best, but alas…” Murphy gestured towards the kitchen door. “Please, Griffin. We both know you won’t be able to concentrate with me here anyways.” It was true. Every time she shut her eyes to focus, all she could think about was him sneaking up behind her and thwacking her on the head with his spoon, and that was the _least_ criminal thing she could imagine. “We both know my good looks and charm are too much for you.”

“You’re hilarious,” she said dryly. “Why don’t you go somewhere else? That cereal is soggy as fuck. How long have you been here? Four hours?”

“I’ll let you know, it’s only been _three._ Glad to know that you’re so knowledgeable about cereal sogginess. I’m sure that skill will come in handy in life.” Clarke gave him a dirty look. “Seriously, just go to your room or something, I don’t know.”

“I’ve _been_ in my room for two days,” she snapped. “I need to see something different.”

Murphy’s gaze dropped down to the piece of parchment. “What are you doing that’s so important anyways? Somehow, I doubt that’s a grocery list.”

The protectiveness over her paper full of insider Death Eater knowledge grew. She held it against her chest.

“Somehow, I doubt it’s any of your business,” she retorted.

Murphy didn’t look phased. “Well, based off how pissed you are by me just _looking_ at the damn thing, I’d say it’s probably important. And it probably has something to do with why McGonagall was meeting with you, right? She didn’t give two shits about us before you showed up.”

Clarke’s fist curled at her side. “She cares,” she said hotly. “Shes apart of the Order, isn’t she?”

Murphy cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Is she? People don’t exactly tell me things around here.” He continued eating. “I mean like, I know enough, but is she apart of it? All I know about her is that she hated me and scared the shit out of me at Hogwarts.”

“She hated you because you were an asshole to her. Didn’t you try to catch her while she was a cat?”

Murphy’s laugh surprised her. “Nobody could blame me. I didn’t know it was her. I saw a cat, I wanted to pet it, and I went after it. I’m a simple man who knows what he wants.”

Clarke cracked a grin at that. The memory was hard not to laugh at. They were in their first year at the time, and none of their friend group knew about their professor’s ability to transfigure herself into a cat. Murphy paid the price for that one.

“McGonagall isn’t bad,” she told him. “I know we didn’t really like her when we were students, but she’s _really_ great. I mean, looking back on it, I don’t know why we hated her back then?”

“Because we’re snakes and she’s a lion. Our kinds don’t mix well.” Murphy’s eyebrows lifted and he grinned smugly. “Well, I mean, not _always.”_

Clarke knew he must’ve been talking about her and Bellamy. 

She ignored that.

“She was the reason I found the safe houses to begin with,” Clarke told him. “She found me in Diagon Alley. I was hungry, and exhausted, and in danger, and she was the one who told me to come. She made me promise her I’d stay safe, even if I didn’t go to Kane’s. Without her, I don’t know if I’d be alive right now.”

Murphy was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. 

“I don’t think either of us would be alive without the stupidity of lions,” he said after a moment. When Clarke was going to protest his choice of words, he continued. “They’re stupid, Griffin. Don’t get me wrong — they’re great, and brave, and whatever — but they let both of us into their safe house system. If they were smart, they wouldn't trust either of us.”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow. “Is this you trying to tell me you’re untrustworthy?”

“We both know I’m untrustworthy.”

“No. I trust you to always be an ass.” 

They both grinned at that, both knowing her words were said in jest.

“Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual. You might suck, but at least you’re reliable.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and took a long sip from her cup. 

It was strange. Despite everything that happened between them — despite all the loss and hurt, and all the betrayal, and all the time she spent hating him — it was easy to slip back into this again. It had been years since she considered him a friend, but it felt like no time had passed at all.

She didn’t trust him, not like she did before he sided with the Death Eaters in their Hogwarts house, but it was nice to feel something close to normal with him.

“Is McGonagall less picky with your printing now that we’re technically not her students, or is she still deducting house points when you forget to cross your T’s?”

Clarke snorted. “No, I never forgot to cross my T’s. She deducted points when I didn’t dot my I’s.” They both laughed. She almost felt bad joking about the woman who saved her life more than once, but she had a feeling every student that went through Hogwarts had the same thoughts on her. She was very detail-oriented and picky when it came to essays. “This is my first thing I’ll be giving her now that I’m not her student, so I’ll let you know.”

She set down her glass in the sink, returned the juice to the fridge and made her way out of the room.

“See you, Griffin.”

She paused just before exiting the kitchen. Murphy wasn’t looking at her anymore, having already turned back to his textbook. 

She didn’t know why — maybe it was because she was feeling nostalgic, or maybe she was desperate — but she spoke.

“Actually, Murphy, can I ask you something?” He glanced up from his page and lifted an eyebrow in question. 

“Uhm. Shoot.”

“What do you remember about Adrian’s family?”

He grew confused at that. “Pucey? Adrian Pucey?” She nodded. “Uh, I mean, a lot.” He closed his book. “What are you looking for?”

He watched her carefully as she made her way towards him. She sat down beside him.

“I can’t remember his dad’s name. What was it? Andrew? Arden?”

“Ackley,” Murphy said without hesitation. “Ackley Pucey and Joan Pucey had Adrian. _Arden_ is Adrian’s paternal uncle, I think, but last I heard, he left for America and never returned.”

 _Ackley. Right._ Clarke brought out the piece of parchment and reached for Murphy’s Muggle pen beside his textbook. She quickly scribbled his notes down.

“I forgot he had an uncle,” she admitted. “That’s the one that never married?”

“Never married, never had kids. He is the youngest of the two brothers, so that’s probably why you forgot. He’s always been the odd one out.”

Clarke grinned. “Salazar, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about these people so nicely. This place is making you soft.”

“Please, Griffin. I’m trying to be nice so you don’t try to stab me with my own pen, thank you very much. I know how you get.”

She snorted. “That was one time. And I wasn’t trying to stab you, I was trying to stab Draco. _And_ I wasn’t even trying to stab him!”

“Right.” He tapped his fingers along the table. “If you want me to be unfiltered, let me know. I won’t hold back. Just don’t stab me.”

“I’m not going to stab you.” Clarke set the pen down to show her innocence. “Joan… What family is she from?”

Murphy’s face twisted in concentration. “Greengrass, maybe? I remember Astoria talked about her being a relative of hers once, I think?” Clarke continued to write. He watched her closely. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

“I couldn’t remember.” She smirked. “My mother would’ve had a cow if she heard me admit that. She always told me that it was necessary for the heir of the Griffin family to know all the ins and outs of the other families.” She rolled her eyes. “Then again, she also told me that it was my duty to find a nice pure-blood husband and be a good pure-blood wife and have a bunch of pure-blood babies.”

“Your mom’s a bitch.” Murphy shoved his cereal away from him. “I kind of hate her.”

“Join the club.” 

She read the paragraph on the Pucey’s out loud and added a few more lines as Murphy remembered details. By the time she finished, the paragraph on the Pucey family was nearly double in length than any other family. 

She must’ve looked surprised because Murphy snorted. “I was also raised on those same standards you were, Griffin. Remember everyone, know everything, find a pure-blood wife, raise a proper pure-blood child.”

“I hate your family,” she said, repeating his words from earlier.

“Join the club.”

They both grinned at each other — real, true, genuine grins. 

He was right; they were raised similarly to each other. They grew up in upper class Wizarding society, just because they belonged to old Wizarding families. They attended the stifling galas, and they went through all the awful etiquette training, and were taught things that made her blood boil now. From a young age, she was told that she was better than anyone else, she was taught to conceal all her emotions, she was taught the world was rightfully hers.

It was horrifying.

“Listen,” Murphy said after a long minute. “I know you hate me, but—“

Clarke’s good mood disappeared instantly.

“You sided with You-Know-Who,” she pointed out hotly. “When Malfoy was going through it all in sixth year, you were so eager to please. You were always with the others, talking about how great you were, and how horrible others were, and how _you_ were the ones that deserved magic — not them. You—“

“I know what I did.” Murphy’s jaw clenched. “I’m not proud of it, Clarke. I… Things are different now. I’m different now.”

“You might be here, but that doesn’t mean much,” she said. “You’re living in a house with half-bloods and pure-bloods. What would you think if a muggle-born was here too?”

“I’d treat them like I treat the rest of you.” She couldn’t recall a time where he looked so sure of himself. “My answer would’ve been different in the past — we both know it would’ve been. But this is what I believe now. You aren’t the only one that came to their senses, Clarke.”

“I wasn’t like you,” she said. “I don’t agree with what I did in the past either — I was silent, and silence is compliance — but I wasn’t like you. I didn’t bully people because of their blood status, and I didn’t _want_ to follow You-Know-Who. I tried distancing myself from it all, and I tried pretending it wasn’t happening — yes — but I wasn’t _joining_ the ranks.”

“You’re right,” he admitted. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for all of that. It was wrong. _I was wrong, Clarke._ We were raised the same, but you saw through their bullshit. I didn’t, and I regret everything I did. _I really, truly regret it.”_

Clarke could see how genuine Murphy was. She couldn’t recall another time in her life where he admitted he was wrong. The passion and strength in his voice surprised her, too.

“What made you change your mind? The last time I saw you…”

“The last time we saw each other was in June,” he recalled. “When we were at Hogwarts. It was during Dumbledore’s funeral.” She nodded. “The last time you saw me, I still agreed with what Malfoy and Nott spewed.”

“You were well and truly on your way to becoming a Death Eater. What changed?”

Murphy blew out a long breath and averted his gaze. “I… Fuck. It started a while ago — the questioning of it all — but I didn’t do anything about it. I remember thinking, when we were fifteen or so, if Muggle-borns were so unworthy of magic, why did they do so well in school? If they were as lacking in skill as my father always told me, then why weren’t they _all_ at the bottom of the year rankings? How did they graduate Hogwarts, and how did they do well, and how did they go onto be successful people? It didn’t make sense. And them _stealing_ magic from other witches and wizards doesn’t make sense either. If there was a way for someone to steal magic from a witch or wizard, why isn’t it more commonly practiced? And how would Muggles — people that don’t even know the existence of magic — know how to perform this? It didn’t click.

“Then, when we were fourteen, and the Triwizard Tournament happened, _all those different people visited Hogwarts._ There were so many cultures and so many traditions, all different than our own. It didn’t hit me then, but, when I was a bit older, it made me realize that there is no right answer on how to live life. Just because one way of life doesn’t match my own, that doesn’t mean it's wrong. Just because the _Muggle_ way of life doesn’t match the one I was raised on — the pure-blood Wizarding one — that doesn’t mean it is wrong, or that it is inferior. It’s just different.”

Clarke shook her head. “But that was _years_ ago, Murphy. You were still a prejudice asshole after that.”

“I know. I was questioning it all, but… I never did anything about it. I still thought I was better, just because of my family and my blood status. I still hung out with Malfoy. And then it changed in the summer.”

“This summer?”

“After we left Hogwarts in June,” he clarified. “I got home, and suddenly, everything became more real for me. It’s selfish and self-absorbed — the way it took things to become personal for it to become real — I know.

“My father heard about Malfoy joining the Death Eaters, and he saw how much _praise_ he was getting from everyone he cared about, and... he had me — a son of his own. He came to me and told me it was time I join.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I was taught to always say ‘yes, and.’ He _expected_ me to just… join. To follow the Dark Lord. To become one of them. And, at that point, I was already questioning the validity of everything. I didn’t really believe in any of that shit — not anymore. And him asking me to join was _it._ Instantly — as soon as he asked — I knew I didn’t want to do it. I wasn’t going to pledge my life to a man who thought our way of life was the only valid way, not when I knew otherwise. I wasn’t going to fight and die for a cause I didn’t believe in. I might have been an asshole to Muggle-borns and Muggles, but I didn’t want to _hurt them._ And now I was being asked to do exactly that, and worse?”

Clarke pursed her lips. “So you said no.”

“So I said no,” he agreed. “And then no again, when he asked me a second time. When he came to me a third time, it wasn’t a question — it was a request. ‘Do what I say or else.’”

“Then you left?” Clarke guessed.

Murphy’s expression soured. “No. I stuck around because I thought things could be different. I thought… If _I_ saw the truth — that everything the Dark Lord says is a bunch of shit, that Muggle are just different and not inferior, that Muggle-borns are no different than us and not any less deserving of magic — I thought I could convince him. And when I tried to tell him what I thought, he… He wasn’t happy.” Murphy laughed bitterly. “He was pissed off, actually.”

Clarke thought of her mother in that moment, and tried to imagine how she would’ve reacted if she did with Murphy did. Any outcome she imagined made her blood run cold. 

“He told me that I was a blood traitor, and I was _angry_ at that. Not because he didn’t believe what I said, but because he labelled me as one of them. I mean, I didn’t want to hurt anyone and I didn’t believe in the Dark Lord’s cause, but I still was _so_ wrong on so many things,” he explained. “I used to think that being a blood traitor was something so horrible, but now I can’t imagine being anything but.”

It was odd, how close to home his words hit. Being labelled as a ‘blood traitor’ was something she was taught to fear. Now, she couldn’t imagine living a life where she wasn’t one.

“Then, my father told me that if I didn’t join, I was more useful to him dead.” Murphy’s lips thinned. “I don’t doubt that. If I was dead, I wouldn’t be such an embarrassment to him, you know? He wouldn’t have a son that was a blood traitor — he’d just have a dead son.”

Clarke didn’t want to believe what he was saying was true, but she knew it was. If she did what he did, she would’ve bet _anything_ her mother would’ve reacted the same way. 

If they were dead, they wouldn’t be ‘tarnishing’ the family reputation — the damn precious family reputation.

“I wanted to leave, and I tried a few times, but that wasn’t allowed either because I’d still be out there, and I’d still be a blood traitor. When I realized my father was _actually_ serious — that he’d truly rather me die than disagree — I realized that there was nothing stopping him from ensuring exactly that. I had two choices; become a Death Eater or die at my father’s hand.”

The air was stolen from her lungs. She physically felt sick.

“That’s when I left — when I realized that no matter what I did or said, and no matter who I was, I’d never be good enough for them, all because I didn’t want to kill people who don’t believe in what the damn Dark Lord said. I made my way to Hogsmeade, ran into the owner of the Hog’s Head Inn, and he organized something with someone. I ended up here.” Murphy gestured to the room.

“Don’t get me wrong — I was still an asshole when I showed up. I spent my whole life with such a narrow mind, surrounded by people with the same narrow minds, so I had a lot to learn and unlearn. I still have a lot to learn; I don’t think there will ever be a time where I _won’t_ be learning. I still have a lot of things to make up for, too. I didn’t expect my life to just reset when I left my family. I still said some shitty things. I _did_ shitty things. I used to believe shitty things.” He was rambling, but neither of them seemed to care. 

“And, I mean, I don’t expect people to forgive me either. I know I was really shitty, and me not wanting to join the Death Eaters doesn’t make up for that fact. I don’t expect people to accept me, or forgive me, or whatever. Like, so what? I didn’t want to kill people. That’s like… basic human morals. And, fuck, I didn’t even leave because of how fucked up my family was. I mean, it was apart of it, but what pushed me to leave was because _I_ was in danger. Nice, right? I didn’t leave, even after I realized how fucked up everything was? I stayed, even if I didn’t agree. I didn’t leave for the right reasons, and—”

“We left,” Clarke said, her voice unwavering. Murphy looked as sick as she felt. “We did horrible things before, but we realized how fucked up it was.” She swallowed thickly. “Maybe… Maybe we aren’t exactly the same, but we’re pretty fucking close.”

She recognized something in Murphy in this moment. It was a guilt similar to hers. They both felt guilty that they didn’t do something earlier. They both felt guilty that they didn’t leave with plans to fight; they both turned to the Order because they were in danger, not because they planned on fighting the war. They both left their families because they didn’t agree with the way the world was turning. 

She knew she wasn’t in a position to make a judgement on his character — she was a pure-blood, just like him — but Clarke understood him, at least partially.

They both were trying now, even if they hadn’t in the past. 

That was a good thing.

Clarke unfolded the piece of parchment and shoved it in his direction. His gaze left hers to read the words on the page.

“We can do more,” she began. “We have information, Murphy, insider information. You said you plan on spending the rest of your life making up for past mistakes? I feel the _exact_ same way as you do. I decided I can’t just sit around here, doing nothing. I need to be helping fight the war because this is _our_ fight. It always has been, even if I was too naive and privileged to realize it. We shouldn’t be silent anymore — we _can’t_ be.”

Murphy pulled the parchment closer to himself and his eyes widened. Finally, he glanced at her again.

“You’re saying what, exactly?”

“I’m saying we fight.” Clarke pointed to a paragraph on the paper. “We know things most people don’t know. We grew up with these people. We know who funds what. We know the dirty business of all these Death Eaters. It could be helpful information. The Order could use it somehow, or — I don’t know. The point is, we can do more than just sit and talk about how we regret what we did. We could be helping end this war.”

Murphy’s nose wrinkled. “And, what? You want to be their little saviour?”

“No. That’s the opposite of what I want.” Her gaze was sharp. “Like you said, I’m not looking for forgiveness. I’m not doing this for people to forgive me. I don’t _expect_ people to forgive me. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”

They were both silent for a long time. She couldn’t read his expression, but, then again, when had she ever been able to read him?

Murphy laughed. “If they find out what you’re doing, they’ll kill you.”

“My death is already guaranteed, regardless of if I provide information or not,” she told him. “If my mother knew my opinions, she’d say the exact same thing your father said to you. She’d rather me be dead than me be a blood traitor, and she’d probably kill me herself too.”

He laughed again because it was the cold, bitter truth.

“You’re really doing this?” he asked.

“Yes.” Clarke cocked an eyebrow. “Are you in?”

He smiled.

* * *

_January 9, 1998_

Her hand hurt less now that she was working with Murphy, which was an unexpected bonus.

For the last two days, she spent hours at a time with him. Most of it was spent at the kitchen table as they poured every piece of information onto the page.

Murphy was more help than she expected. He remembered a lot of details from when they were younger. He remembered conversations their parents had, and the names of older students when they were in their first year, and had more information on the Malfoy family than she ever wanted to know.

Plus, what he knew was more relevant than what she did. For years, he hung with the crowd that became Death Eaters. She, on the other hand, avoided those people like the plague.

“What do you think?” 

Murphy lifted the stack of parchment and flipped through it. Clarke didn’t know how many pages it was, but she was sure it was more than what she wrote for Charms last year. 

“I think we covered all of the basics,” Clarke said. She set down the pen and leaned back in her chair. Her back cracked several times and she grimaced. Her whole body hurt from being stuck in the same chair for the last few days.

“McGonagall is supposed to come by in a few days. We’ll give it to her then, and we’ll tell her that you’re helping me.” Clarke took the stack of papers away from Murphy and slipped a Muggle paper clip over them. “Merlin, I can’t believe we’re done.”

“I think I spent more time studying these pages than I spent studying at Hogwarts,” Murphy muttered. 

Clarke glanced out the window over the sink. The sun was already going down. It was barely five in the evening, yet the sky was partially dark. Winter was a crime.

“You know what we need? A break. Something that doesn’t require sitting on wood chairs. Or thinking. No thinking allowed.” She glanced back to Murphy. “What do you do for fun?”

“Not much, princess. In case you haven’t noticed, this house is boring as hell.”

She ignored him. “We should watch a movie.” She remembered seeing a VCR by the television in the sitting room. She hoped that meant Diyoza also kept some Muggle movies around the house somewhere.

“Movie?” Murphy looked confused. “Are you fucking with me? What the hell’s a movie?”

It was amusing, how things had changed over the last few months. It wasn’t too long ago where _she_ was the one confused by all things Muggle and Bellamy had to teach her.

Her chest constricted when she thought of those happier times. She would do almost anything to go back to that — when her and Bellamy were cautiously trying to figure each other out, when she spent her nights talking with Harper and studying with Monty, when she knew she could turn to Kane and he’d listen.

She pushed those thoughts away.

“It’s a Muggle film,” she told him. “It’s kind of like Wizarding portraits, except the people we watch aren’t real — they’re just characters. They’re played by Muggles called actors.”

“How can they be not real and real at the same time?” Murphy looked slightly terrified.

She laughed. “No, they’re… You know how wizards and witches get jobs?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a toddler, Clarke. Of course I fucking know how witches and wizards get jobs. Merlin.”

“Well, Muggle’s get jobs too, but their jobs are different than ours. Bellamy told me that one of those jobs is something called acting. That’s when Muggles pretend to be someone else, or they pretend to be a character.”

“Right…”

“Then they’re recorded while doing this job. Kind of like a play, but they only perform it for Muggle recording devices, not an audience. Then… something about waves?”

Murphy recoiled. “Like… the ocean?”

She pressed her fingers to her temple. She was getting a headache. “No. I mean, I don’t _think_ so. Things started to get foggy after that.”

He scoffed. “Next you’re going to tell me it’s like the radio.”

“It _is_ like the radio.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Why would I believe there are invisible waves in the air that travel across the planet and send sound to a metal box? Please, for the love of all things good, tell me _how the fuck_ that’s possible.”

Clarke scowled. “I don’t know, but it works, doesn’t it? Besides, we don’t need to know how things work to appreciate them. Bellamy told me he doesn’t know the exact process either, but he still watches movies.”

Murphy raised his eyebrows. She could tell he was trying to fight a smirk too, just by the way his lips kept twitching. Clarke stoned her expression and tried to remain impassive.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, clearly meaning the exact opposite. “It’s just… I’ve been trying to figure you two out.”

“Us two?” Clarke’s heart pounded in her chest. Her stomach rolled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Right, right.” He leaned back in his seat and smiled coyly. “Whatever you say.”

“We’re… just friends.” Just _saying_ those words out loud felt odd, especially when she was so desperately in love with him.

“Two friends don’t look at each other like you look at him.” He pushed out of his chair. Her chest ached. His words felt like a punch to the gut. “Movie?”

.

Over an hour later, Clarke realized just how little she knew about Muggle films. Murphy wouldn’t _shut up_ either — he kept asking questions about everything, ranging from how Muggle movies worked to details on the story.

“Listen, I don’t know,” Clarke sighed. “I think the people at the start are supposed to be in present time, and I think the older lady is supposed to be Rose.”

“But… How can Rose be young and old at the same time?”

“Rose _isn’t_ young and old at the same time. We’re watching her memories. I think.”

Murphy looked thoughtful. “Like… a pensieve?”

“Uh. Sure.”

A minute passed before Murphy spoke again. “Why are they on the boat anyways? Couldn’t they just—”

“Murphy, I swear to Salazar, be quiet,” she pleaded. “They’re _Muggles_ and I’m pretty sure this takes place eighty years ago.”

“If this was filmed eighty years ago, why is it out on tape? Did Muggles always record their ship journeys on tapes?”

Clarke wanted to bang her head against the wall. _“No._ This is _set_ during the early nineteen hundreds. It came out last year. They’re only pretending it is eighty years ago. I’m surprised you don’t know more about Muggle movies.”

“Wow, thanks, Griffin. That’s something I’ve always wanted to hear.” Murphy glared at her.

“No, it’s not bad. I’m just… You’ve been here for months with Raven and Diyoza. I thought they would’ve showed you a movie before. That’s all.”

Murphy’s expression soured. “I don’t want to learn things from people that judge me,” he said.

“Raven wouldn’t judge you. She doesn’t judge me, and I’m just as clueless as you are when it comes to Muggle things.”

Murphy sighed. “Reyes is… Reyes. She’s perfect — always has been, always will be. She wouldn’t understand me.”

Clarke didn’t know their story. All she knew was the fact they had been living together in this safe house for the last month and a half. She had a feeling that there was something more to them, but it wasn’t like she was in any position to talk about _that._

“People can surprise you,” she told him.

And that was the last they spoke of it.

The movie continued on. Clarke had to admit, she was lost for a good majority of it. Murphy was bored. Finally, when the two main characters snuck away from the shitty fiance and made their way into the back of a metal horse with _very little clothing,_ Murphy looked at her in horror.

“Listen, Griffin, I don’t know what the _hell_ you’re showing me, but—”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Clarke switched the movie off in the middle of the _extremely_ uncomfortable sex scene. She felt as horrified as Murphy did. “I’m pretty sure they’re pretending.”

“Pretty sure? Or are you _actually_ sure?” Murphy gestured towards the television. “Because — earlier — it looked like they were _actually_ kissing.” Oh, no. _No, no, no, no._ Please, Merlin, tell her she didn’t just watch two people have sex in the back of a metal horse with _John fucking Murphy_ . “And if their _kisses_ are real, then—”

“What are you guys watching?”

Clarke felt extremely flushed and awkward when she turned to Raven hovering in the doorway. She was chewing on a handful of popcorn as she glanced back and forth between the two of them.

She thanked all of the founders of magic that it was Raven who found them, not Bellamy. _That_ would’ve been an uncomfortable situation for everyone.

“Clarke is showing me videos of two people having sex in a car.”

She shot up from the couch and choked on her words. Raven merely watched her, her eyebrow raised.

“What!? Absolutely— Absolutely not! No.” She tossed a throw pillow at Murphy’s head. “It’s a movie!”

“I mean, I guess porn could be considered a movie,” Raven said thoughtfully. “Interesting choice for a Friday night though.” Clarke stared at her in horror. “I guess I’ll leave you two to it—”

“No!” Clarke picked up the cardboard VHS case from the coffee table and shoved it in Raven’s direction. “It’s a movie. Like a _movie_ movie. Not… porn? Is that what you called it?” Raven choked on her popcorn and started coughing. “Unless you consider _Titanic_ porn?”

Raven continued to cough. When she managed to calm her breathing again, she spoke. “Fuck, I forgot you two don’t have much experience with Muggle terminology,” she stated. “You nearly killed me. I hope you know that.”

“...Sorry?” Clarke turned to Murphy. “Listen, Murphy, I didn’t know they’d do _that_ in the metal horse! Bellamy never— He never—”

That was the wrong thing to say. Murphy doubled over laughing. “Are you sure Bellamy never did _that_ in the back of a car?”

“I’ll end you,” she threatened, turning on him completely. “I will physically come over there and—”

“Alright, children, let’s calm down a little bit.” Raven was struggling to hide her smile. “First of all, no murder allowed. That’s Diyoza’s favourite couch and I doubt I’d be able to get blood out of it. Secondly, I can guarantee you that they were just acting.”

“Oh, thank Merlin.”

Raven looked back and forth between her and Murphy. “You two really thought— You know what. I’m not going to ask.” She pointed at the paused screen. “They’re just acting.”

“But their lips actually touch when they kiss, Reyes.”

“Sure, some things are real, but most things aren’t when it comes to Muggle movies. Like… they aren’t actually on a boat, and they aren’t actually in love, and he doesn’t actually die. Does that make sense?”

They were both silent for a long moment.

Then—

_“Jack fucking dies!?”_

They didn’t finish the movie.

* * *

_January 11, 1998_

While Murphy didn’t know much about Muggle movies, he sure as hell knew how to cook.

That was one skill she wasn’t exactly _great_ at, despite being taught by Bellamy at Kane’s. It wasn’t her fault that her lesson was interrupted by Death Eaters that wanted to kill them all. Other than that day, the closest she ever got to cooking anything was when she heated up a can of soup, or added milk to her Lucky Charms.

Murphy glanced up from where he was rubbing butter onto a baking pan. He left her with the task of measuring out the dry ingredients and it was a disaster in progress. 

“It’s not too hard, right? Just match the numbers on the page to the numbers on the cups or spoons.”

“Right. Not hard.”

Except, it was. What was ‘1/3 cup’ supposed to mean? Why was there a standardized cup anyways? Did all cups only hold one cup of liquid? What was the difference between teaspoon and tablespoon?

She held her questions. It was going to work out, right? Even if she used a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon when she measured out the baking soda, what could go wrong? It was all being mixed together and put into a hot metal box anyways. It couldn’t be an exact science.

She dumped the spoon full of salt into the mixing bowl.

“Remember when Blaise’s mother sent him cookies in the mail?” Murphy asked after a long moment. That was what they were baking now — cookies — which must’ve sparked his memory. “They were awful.”

Clarke cracked a smile at that. “Crabbe and Goyle still ate them and insisted they were the best things they ever ate. Then, they spent the rest of the night complaining about how sick they were.”

Once Murphy had the pans ready, he moved onto measuring out liquids. They stood on opposite sides of the counter, facing each other as they worked. Clarke grinned at how focused he looked. Never in her life did she imagine John Murphy would take Muggle baking so seriously.

“Blaise was a good one,” Murphy said after a while. “He reminds me of you, in a way. He was always one that went on and on about equality and how stupid we all were. We all hated him by Christmas last year. He was always telling us off.” He smiled. “I wish I would’ve listened to him. He was actually the smart one.”

“Hmm.” She estimated the half-way mark on the measuring cup and began to measure out sugar. “I stopped paying attention to him before that. I mean, I stopped paying attention to everyone before that. All I wanted to do was graduate and get out.”

“And then we couldn’t even finish the year.” The smile was gone from Murphy’s face. “I guess we have Malfoy to thank for that one.”

Clarke didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about how people she grew up with became the thing that scared her the most. It was sickening to think about how many jokes they shared when they were children, just for them to become monsters.

Murphy reached over and flicked a pinch of flour in her direction. It hit the front of her shirt. 

“You’re thinking of them,” he pointed out. It was eerie, seeing just how well he knew her.

Clarke threw a pinch of flour at him in return and smiled. “I’m thinking about the time you kicked Malfoy in the shin in second year. I swear, he cried for three weeks after that.”

It was a lie, but she didn’t feel guilty changing the subject.

Murphy laughed loudly at the memory. “Whenever times get dark, at least I’ll always have the memory of Malfoy crying to brighten my day.” 

She couldn’t stop smiling. Remembering the situation from five years ago was too funny. She could still perfectly imagine how his eyes welled up with tears and how personally offended he looked. While she knew it wasn’t exactly nice to laugh at people’s pain, she could make an exception with Draco Malfoy.

“Merlin, didn’t you punch Theo in the face once?” Murphy asked.

Clarke could still feel the phantom pain in her right wrist from where she _must’ve_ sprained it during that fight. She was fifteen and didn’t know how to punch properly; all she knew was that she was angry and Theo was being a dick, and natural instincts took over.

“He was trying to remove the charms that prevented boys from going into the girls dormitories. Of course I punched him in the face.” She smirked. “Among other things.”

Murphy laughed. “Please explain.”

“Let’s just say I had a bit of laxatives left over from fucking with the Gryffindor Quidditch Team,” she said. Murphy’s jaw slackened. “He was a dick trying to take advantage of girls. He deserved it.”

“Theodore was always a dick,” he agreed. He glanced down at the front of his shirt, which was splattered with flour. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“You started it.”

Murphy reached forward, grabbed a fistfull of flour, and flung it at her. The bulk of it hit her square in the chest, while the rest created a cloud between the two of them. Clarke let out a shriek and stumbled a few steps backwards.

“Hey,” she scolded, “that’s—”

The next fist-full of flour Murphy threw at her ended up in her mouth. She sputtered and frantically wiped at her face. Murphy howled with laughter.

“If you don’t want to eat it, I recommend keeping your mouth closed,” he taunted. He clutched his sides and doubled over from laughing so hard. “Merlin, you should—”

Clarke’s handful of flour hit its mark on Murphy’s face. His face and hair were absolutely _caked_ in flour.

Yes. Revenge was sweet. 

He froze, his eyes widening in shock. Clarke could barely contain her laughter. When he blew out the breath he was holding, it disrupted the flour and clouded out in front of him. She couldn’t stop the laughter at that point.

Murphy lunged towards the bag of flour, but Clarke was quicker. With a shriek, she ran away from him. Her socks slid against the linoleum floor. The flour hit her back at the same time she lost her balance and Clarke hit the floor roughly. She couldn’t stop laughing.

“Shit.” Murphy took a few steps towards her, the bag of flour in his arms. He examined her. “You okay?”

“I’m— fuck— I’m good,” she managed to get out.

He smiled wickedly.

“Fantastic.”

He closed the distance between them. When she realized what he was going to do, her laughter cut off.

“Murphy, I swear to—” 

She clamped her mouth shut and shielded her face right before the bag of flour was dumped on top of her. The powder was cool on her skin and she could feel it _everywhere._ She sucked in breaths against her sleeve to keep the flour out of her mouth. She struggled not to choke and die from laughing.

Murphy was laughing too. She couldn’t remember a time where she heard him laugh so hard or so freely. Even when they were kids, he was always guarded, always suspicious. This was different. It was nice.

When the cloud settled around her, she peeked at him from between her fingers. She sombered enough to speak.

“You think this is funny?” she asked, hardly containing her own laughter.

“No, I think this is _hilarious,”_ he corrected. He managed to hold back his laughter for a whole three seconds before he doubled over again. His joy was contagious.

Acting on pure instinct, Clarke lunged forward. Murphy realized what she was doing too late. Her hand wrapped around his wrist and she pulled him off balance. He let out a yelp as he fell to the ground beside her, landing in a pile of spilled flour.

Clarke was laughing harder than she had in a long time. Tears of happiness blurred her vision. Her sides ached. She could taste flour at the back of her tongue.

Murphy begged mercy as she tried to smother him on the floor. All of the loose flour that had been resting in her lap poured onto him. She scooped handfuls of it from the floor and tossed it at his face.

“This is— _shit_ — unfair,” Murphy gasped. Clarke was relentless in her attacks. He was sprawled out on his back and flour was everywhere.

“You were the one to play dirty first,” she reminded him. Murphy caught her wrist before she made her next attack. Instead of trying to pull her wrist free, she twisted to lean over him, sending the remaining flour on her clothes flying. Murphy pushed her side and she tumbled over him, laughing too hard to stay upright.

“Don’t you dare, Murphy,” she cried, knowing that he was going to retaliate. “Don’t you— Oh.”

Her laughter died immediately. Murphy, the ever perceptive one, wacked her in the chest with a fistfull of flour, but she didn’t react. Her eyes were locked on the man in the doorway.

_Bellamy._

Suddenly, it was nearly impossible to breathe.

“I heard screaming,” Bellamy explained. He looked awkward and flustered in that moment; he was standing in the threshold, his wand in his hand, and his hair messy from what she assumed was his rush to the kitchen. 

Murphy stilled beside Clarke. The smile slipped off his face instantly. Clarke could barely function with Bellamy’s gaze on her. She felt frozen, yet she was filled with adrenaline at the same time.

His gaze bounced back and forth between the two of them on the ground. They must’ve looked ridiculous in that moment; both covered head-to-toe in flour, their chests heaving, their cheeks red from laughing so hard. Then, after a few drawn out seconds, his stare moved to rest between their bodies.

Clarke’s gaze dropped to where he was looking. Murphy’s hand was still wrapped around her wrist and their legs tangled together on the ground.

_Fuck._

Her eyes met Bellamy’s and the pure emotion in them stole her breath. He looked shocked, and confused, and—

Hurt. He looked hurt.

(That was an emotion of his she was beginning to get familiar with.)

“No Death Eater attacks here, Blake,” Murphy said, breaking the silence. “Just your resident Slytherins baking.”

Bellamy’s jaw clenched. She could see the tension across his shoulders and down his arms. His eyes narrowed and moved to Murphy.

“I didn’t realize baking included rolling on the floor together.”

“Only if you do it right.” Murphy cocked an eyebrow. “I guess you’ve been doing it wrong your whole life.”

Bellamy’s eyes moved back to hers. For a brief moment, Clarke was tempted to say something — anything — but the words were stuck in her throat. She didn’t know where to begin, what to say. 

So, she said nothing.

Bellamy’s expression darkened. It looked like _he_ was about to say something, but decided against it at the last minute. Without another word to either of them, her turned and stalked out of the kitchen.

She moved forward on instinct, intending to chase after him.

Then, she remembered his request for time apart. 

She froze.

She could feel Murphy’s gaze on her. When she turned to him, he didn’t pretend like he wasn’t studying her.

“I know I can be pretty oblivious to things, but…” He blew out a long breath and let go of her wrist. “What’s up with you two?”

Clarke’s throat burned. “It’s complicated.”

“First the bathroom last week, and then you two have been avoiding each other since you arrived, and Blake _says your name in his sleep_ — which is really weird, by the way — and now this?” Murphy lifted his eyebrows.

Clarke felt like the floor was pulled out from under her. Her mouth felt impossibly dry and hurt blossomed across her chest.

“He… He _what?”_

Murphy’s grin was unnaturally soft. “I guess he thinks about you while sleeping. And, well, _you_ clearly think about him too. I swear, you find a way to incorporate Bellamy into every second conversation we have.” He poked her teasingly. “I never thought I’d see the great Slytherin Princess love a Gryffindor.”

Her laugh was breathless.

“Yeah,” she admitted, her voice low. “I love him.”

Murphy kicked her foot with his own.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was posted earlier than I was planning because I keep coming back to it and fiddling with it, so I decided just to post it and get it off my mind.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! Also, let me just say an early YAY because I think this chapter will be the one to pull this fic over the 1000 kudos mark. Thank you for reading and enjoying!!
> 
> Paw  
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	27. Chapter 26: Hard Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November is almost over!? Which means the YEAR is almost over?! Wild. The reason I'm bringing this up is to announce that I REALLY REALLY HOPE to complete this fic before the end of December :) If I can stay on track with my updating schedule, that'll happen! eep!
> 
> Not 100% happy with this chapter but I'm on a rush from Anne with an E and that fantastic finale. If you don't watch this show, you're missing out on the best thing that'll happen to you. If you DO watch this show, come scream with me.
> 
> here. take this mess of a chapter. enjoy the unedited rambles.

**_CLARKE_ **

_ January 12, 1998 _

“So,” Raven began as soon as she spotted Clarke sprawled on her bed. Clarke glanced over the edge of her book.

“So,” she echoed.

Raven wasn’t one to beat around the bush. When they were opponents on the Quidditch field, she maneuvered sharply and without hesitation. It seemed as though nothing had changed since then. 

“You and Murphy?” she asked, her eyebrows raising. She crossed her arms. “I, uh… I didn’t know.”

_ Oh, no. _

A sinking sense of horror gripped Clarke. She wasn’t stupid — she knew exactly what she was implying, but—

“What about me and Murphy?” Clarke questioned, her heart pounding in her chest. The older girl gave her a hard glance. Clarke shook her head frantically. “No,” she said strongly. “No, there isn’t anything to  _ know  _ about me and Murphy.” She clamoured up to stand beside Raven. “What— Wh—“

Raven’s expression was cool, but Clarke sensed something else under the facade. 

“I just didn’t realize you  _ liked  _ Murphy, never mind like that,” she explained. Her cheeks were as flushed as Clarke’s were. “I mean, it’s fine, you know? I’m just  _ surprised.”  _ Her smile softened. “You know you could’ve told me, right? I know we aren’t the closest friends in the world, but we’re all we have, and you’re pretty cool, and—“

“Raven,” Clarke cut her off and grabbed her forearm. Her eyes bored into hers. “I appreciate what you’re saying — I do — but I’m not  _ with  _ Murphy.”

She stilled and her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

Clarke laughed. “Oh Merlin. You… you actually thought Murphy and I were hooking up?” She shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. He’s like… well, I don’t know how to put it. We grew up together. We’re friends, at best. I kind of want to punch him half the time, actually, and the other half I’m sure he wants to punch me.”

“But…”

“We aren’t together.” Clarke released her arm and studied her. She still looked confused. “We’re not.”

Raven must’ve sensed the truth in her words. Her shoulders relaxed and the coolness melted away from her expression. Her eyebrows pushed together and she opened and closed her mouth a few times.

“But—“

“Why would you think that anyways?” Clarke wondered. She ran through all the possible reasons she might’ve thought they were together. They  _ did  _ hang out a lot. In fact, they only times they separated over the last four days were when they slept or went to the bathroom. Realization dawned on her. “It was the porn, wasn’t it?” Clarke grimaced. “Trust me, I didn’t know how intimate that movie was going to get, otherwise I would’ve warned Murphy beforehand. He was just kidding though, about—“

“No,” Raven cut in. “It wasn’t the porn.” She shook her head. “Or, not-porn. That  _ really _ wasn’t porn, Clarke. Porn is— You know what? Not the point.”

“Okay, if it wasn’t that, then what? Just the other day you were trying to convince me that he wasn’t worth murdering. How could I have gone from that to… whatever you thought?”

Raven looked even more confused now. “You guys were flirting in the kitchen while baking cookies?” She said it hesitantly, like she was questioning it herself.

Clarke tried to think of when their interactions could’ve been misinterpreted as flirting, but she couldn’t think of anything. They were always bickering and joking around, but she could honestly say that she couldn’t think of a moment where they were borderline flirting. 

“Wait.” Clarke replayed what Raven said. “Did you say ‘while baking cookies?’” 

She felt even  _ more  _ confused than she did before. The only time they baked cookies together was the previous night, where they did more fighting with flour than baking with it. Besides, the only person to see them was—

Oh.

_ Oh, no. _

_ Oh fuck. _

A chill descended on Clarke as she put the pieces together. Her heart fell to her stomach and her mouth ran dry. 

Without another word, Clarke brushed passed Raven and out the room. The older witch called after her, but she didn’t falter. Her hands curled into fists at her side. All she could hear was the rush of blood through her ears. All she could feel was a burn of anger and  _ hurt  _ in her heart. All she could think about was  _ him. _

Raven followed Clarke out of the room, but didn’t move closer when she reached the boys’ door. Clarke’s hand was shaking when she brought it up to knock. Her thoughts were jumbled and her heartbeat erratic.

“Clarke?” Murphy was the one to pull open the door, but she paid no attention to him. Her eyes searched the room behind him. Her jaw tightened. “Wha—”

“Murphy,” she said, feeling distant from her own body. “Can you give Blake and I a second?”

His eyes widened at that. Clarke couldn’t peel her gaze away from where  _ he  _ layed, only a few feet behind Murphy. He must’ve been reading the book with the worn cover before she knocked, as he still held onto it as he pushed himself into a sitting position. 

“Clarke, don’t—” Raven tried to convince Clarke to leave, but she didn’t budge. Murphy’s gaze left hers and focused on Raven’s.

“It’s fine, Reyes,” he told her, his voice controlled. “Let’s go.”

Murphy moved passed her and disappeared with Raven down the stairs, leaving her alone with Bellamy. He abandoned his book on his nightstand and stood at the side of his bed awkwardly, as if this was the first time they’d ever been alone. The distance and unfamiliarity between them made her whole body ache.

The door shut behind her and all the confidence she had moments ago seemed to be trapped in the hallway. Clarke deflated quickly, leaving her  _ tired  _ and emotionally drained. The tension in the room was suffocating. She could barely breathe.

“You needed something?” His words were hollow and straight to the point.

_ You,  _ she thought.  _ I need you. _

“No,” she answered instead, somehow holding her voice steady. “I came to tell you that you’re wrong.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “I’m wrong?”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Murphy,” she told him. His expression remained unreadable. “We aren’t together, nor will we ever be together, and I was  _ definitely not  _ flirting with him in the kitchen.”

He pursed his lips. He looked so nonchalant, like none of this mattered to him. 

Clarke hated that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She laughed. “Really? Because I know for a fact Raven heard from you that Murphy and I were flirting while baking yesterday.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Don’t bother pretending like you’re innocent, Bellamy. How else did she know we were baking yesterday?”

He must’ve sensed it was a losing battle. He uncrossed his arms and took a step closer to her. Dozens of emotions flashed across his face. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. He settled on one of disdain.

“I wouldn’t exactly call that baking, Clarke,” he snapped. “You two were—”

“Trying to suffocate each other with flour,” she finished. Clarke raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. “I slipped and took him down with me as revenge. I can’t control how you interpret things—” (clearly) “—but I can say without a doubt in my mind that,  _ yes,  _ we were trying to bake.” Bellamy kept his expression stoned and lips sealed. 

She hated the wedge between them. She hated how he looked at her — so unfeeling. She hated how she felt like a stranger in his presence.

The longer she stood with him, the more her chest felt like it was caving in. The fact that he thought her and Murphy were hooking up, yet said  _ nothing to her _ made her feel sick.

_ He doesn’t love you. _

_ If he loved you, he would’ve said something. _

Clarke’s voice shook when she spoke next. “There’s nothing going on between Murphy and me. I would  _ never  _ do that to you, Bellamy. Because, even if you don’t love me, I—”  _ love you. _ She swallowed and tried again. “Even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t betray you like that, not when  _ we’re  _ so fresh, not when I’m still so—”  _ in love with you.  _ “Not when we were—”

Clarke broke off the sentence.  _ Around and around  _ it seemed to, getting dangerously close to admitting things she wasn’t ready to.

Bellamy looked broken — more so than before. She could  _ see  _ the heartbreak in his eyes. “You wouldn’t do that to me?” he echoed, his voice thick. He took a step towards her. “You— You say all these things — about not being able to betray me, about  _ us  _ being  _ fresh  _ — yet, you— you—” His jaw tightened. “Just the other day, you told me there never was an ‘us.’ You told me it was all for convenience; that it was just there to pass the time; that it was just sex — nothing more. But now you’re telling me that you care about me so much that you couldn’t possibly be interested in someone else?”

Clarke couldn’t believe it. She physically couldn’t form words in that moment. It was like her whole brain was at a standstill. Nothing Bellamy said made sense.

“You—” That was all she managed to get out before her mind caught up. 

As soon as she realized what he was saying, it felt like her heart had been physically ripped from her chest. She could feel the heartache and— No. Fuck heartache. It wasn’t just her  _ heart  _ that hurt; it was everything.  _ Everything hurt. _

“It was  _ you  _ who reduced our relationship to just sex,” she said, her voice quivering. 

“No,” he said without hesitation. He clenched his jaw. “I never would’ve said that, Clarke, because—” His words stopped abruptly and he shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did,” she insisted. Thinking back to when he threw their relationship — or lack thereof — in her face made her throat constrict and eyes burn with unshed tears. “I remember it clearly, Bellamy; I don’t think I could ever forget  _ that.” _

She doubted she’d ever forget how his lips twisted, how his eyes hardened, and how his expression became unreadable. She doubted she’d ever forget how her heart felt like it turned to ash in her chest, how she felt physically sick, and how she desperately wanted to cry.

_ “You  _ were the one who said that to  _ me  _ the first day in the safe house,” he insisted.

“And you were the one who said that to me in the woods.” Clarke smiled bitterly. “‘You don’t torture people,’ you told me, ‘you just betray the person you’re sleeping with.’ I remember, Bellamy, because  _ it really fucking hurt.” _

The blood drained from his face and his jaw slackened. The fight bled out of her as soon as she got the words out, and she felt lighter with relief. Bellamy, on the other hand, seemed weighed down by her words. His eyes were wide with shock, his lips parted with silent words, his shoulders slumped.

“No,” Bellamy said again, this time more desperate. “No, that… Fuck. That came out all wrong. That’s—  _ that’s not what I meant.” _

Clarke scoffed to cover up the fresh tears. “Your words were pretty clear. You threw everything I thought we were — everything I  _ wanted us to be  _ — in my face. Even if you were angry, you  _ meant  _ those things, didn’t you? Or—”

“I didn’t say that,” he pleaded with her. “I mean, I said those words, but I didn’t mean them like that. I—“ He shook his head. “I never intended to reduce our relationship to that, when it is so much more than that — when it has always been  _ so much more than that.”  _ His laugh was brief and wet.

“Then, what? I don’t understand. I don’t—“

“I meant it as ‘you are betraying the person you’re sleeping with’ like… you trust and respect me enough to sleep with me, but not enough to discuss a new plan with.” 

She froze. She couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak, how to think. It was like she stared into the eyes of a Basilisk — she was completely petrified with shock.

“What?”

Bellamy ran his hand over his face. “It was meant to point out how backwards everything was, not dismiss our relationship.” They locked eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Clarke managed to get her mouth to work again. “You’re sorry?” she asked. “No, I’m… oh Merlin.” 

Clarke recalled what she said in the bathroom all those nights ago. No wonder he was so hurt by what she said. For all he knew, she wasn’t throwing his words back in his face — he thought  _ she _ was reducing their relationship to just sleeping together. He thought she had only been with him because she was bored and he was the only one around. She thought she slept with him because it was something to pass the time, not because she was so desperately in love with him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You don’t have to be sorry. I... misunderstood. That’s on me.”

“We have to take responsibility for our words, even if they’re misunderstood or they come out the wrong way,” he disagreed. “What I said — Merlin. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Clarke wanted to fall back into his arms. She wanted to sob against his chest and hear him tell her that things would be okay. She wanted things to go back to how the used to be.

She didn’t move.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” she echoed. “I was just trying to repeat you when I said those words, but…” But without him ever saying it to begin with, she crossed the line first. She swallowed thickly. “It was never just  _ sex,  _ Bellamy. I—“  _ love you  _ “—really cared about you. I  _ still _ care about you.”

She stopped talking before she could admit anything more. Even though she hadn’t been so sure about anything else in her entire life, she knew she couldn’t say it. They weren’t ready for that, not when they were so fractured. 

Neither of them spoke. The tension between them wasn’t as thick as it was only moments ago, and her heart felt lighter. It was childish to imagine, but she could almost feel them taking a step closer to each other — she could almost feel the fractures mending.

For a moment, she was sure they were going to be alright — she was sure everything was going to go back to normal. They were talking, and apologizing, and making progress.

Her eyes dropped to his lips and she realized just how close they were standing.

_ They could kiss. _

She could move forward and press her lips against his; something she had been imagining ever since she left him the morning of the mission.

Bellamy’s eyes dipped down to hers for a brief moment, and she truly believe  _ this was it.  _ It was all over. It was all solved. Everything could go back to normal.

Except, it didn’t.

He didn’t lean forward to meet her. 

Things didn’t go back to normal. As much as she wanted it,  _ this didn’t solve everything. _

“I care about you too, Clarke,” he said after a long drawn out moment. He took a half step backwards. Clarke tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. “But I still need time. You still hurt me by leaving.” He wet his lips. “I need time to think.”

Clarke’s smile was sad.

“I know.”

* * *

_ January 14, 1998 _

Diyoza stuck when she was least expecting it.

Her and Murphy had been invested in a game of Wizard’s Chess when the Order member strolled into the house. She had a thick winter cloak wrapped around her shoulders and a layer of partially melted snow covering her entire body when she caught sight of the two of them sprawled in the sitting room.

“Oh, good,” she greeted as she unwrapped her scarf from around her neck. “Glad to see Griffin can co-exist with you, Murphy. I was sure I’d come home to find you sporting two black eyes.”

“She only tried to kill me three times, so I’d say we’re making progress,” Murphy said teasingly. Clarke tossed a pillow at his head.

Diyoza hovered in the doorway for a few seconds, watching as Clarke made her next move on the chessboard. As soon as the piece had moved to the desired position, she spoke.

“Well, let’s make it a fourth.”

“What?” Clarke glanced up from the game because  _ clearly  _ she missed something. A fourth? A fourth  _ what? _

Diyoza didn’t answer.

She stepped out of the room, a wicked smile on her face. The last thing she told them before she shut the doors was not promising to Clarke. “Whoever stuns the other first wins.” 

The door clicked shut.

Clarke felt very out of the loop. She frowned and turned to Murphy. “What the hell is she—”

Murphy’s wand was pointed at her forehead. His grin was one of pure glee.

“I win!”

The stunner hit her between the eyes.

When she woke up, she sent a stunner at him in return. 

Diyoza attempted to hide her smile.

* * *

_ January 15, 1998 _

Clarke flipped through the pages of Kane’s charms textbook again, her wand in her hand and her lip between her teeth. At this point, she could almost recite the whole thing by memory, but feeling the familiar pages under her fingers brought back memories she wanted to relive over and over.

She thought of spending all those days and nights studying the pages to pass the time, and practicing with Bellamy, and feeling so proud when she managed to perform a complicated spell. 

Her heart tugged when she thought of her time in the forest with him. Even though they had been in danger then, she couldn’t help but think of it with a certain fondness. It was where she grew to understand him. It was where she began to view him more than just someone she  _ needed  _ to get along with, but  _ wanted  _ to. She fell in love with his humour, and his quirky habits, and the way he viewed the world.

It was where she fell in love with him.

It was where she fell in love with him —  _ all of  _ him — even the Gryffindor tendencies that she used to despise; like the ferocity of his emotions, and his ability to act based on impulses, and his bravery. She used to think those were the traits that would wind up killing Gryffindors, but she saw it differently because of Bellamy.

He had such a big heart and he cared with everything in him for his family. It was beautiful and so  _ Bellamy. _

She glanced up from the book to watch out the window. Ever since Murphy showed her the bay window behind the stairs, she couldn’t get enough of it. She wanted to spend forever in the secluded spot, curled up with a blanket and her charms book, watching the world as it seemingly stood still in time. On days like this — where no snow fell from the sky and the winds were nonexistent — she could almost pretend like no time was passing at all. The world was frozen, and that thought alone brought her comfort.

She had nothing against Raven — not in the slightest — but it was tiring to be trapped in their room all day. Her back ached from leaning awkwardly over the nightstand as she wrote. She was bored of the same colour of paint on the walls. Clarke was even beginning to hate the smell of fresh linen that seemed embedded into the room.

“Raven said I’d find you here.”

Clarke jolted and spun to face the narrow hallway that led towards the bay window. Bellamy stood just outside of the tiny space, his stance closed. She was surprised to see him. 

She managed a tight smile. “I got tired of my room,” she explained. 

Clarke desperately tried to figure out why he was here. It wasn’t as if he  _ stumbled  _ into her — not only was the bay window isolated from the rest of the house, but he asked Raven where she was. He had been looking for her and that thought alone made her heart pound.

She waited for him to speak. She didn’t know what to say to break the thick silence between them. After all, he was the one who requested time apart.

“It’s, uh, pretty.” He nodded towards the window and Clarke glanced out and the snow-covered world again. “Winter is my favourite season.”

_ I know,  _ she wanted to say.  _ I remember you telling me about ice skating with your sister and friends at Hogwarts. I remember dancing with you during the first snowfall of the year. I remember talking about our winter traditions while we lay under the stars. _

She didn’t speak.

Clarke turned back to Bellamy, who hadn’t moved an inch. He looked hesitant and awkward, and he felt so much further away than just a few steps. While the anger had dissolved between the two of them, they still felt like strangers.

“You can come in, you know,” she told him.

That seemed to be all he was waiting for. He stepped into the tiny room, but didn’t move much closer to her. They were both silent as he searched for the right words.

“I want to know more about what happened.”

Clarke bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t have to ask for clarification. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

_ What happened the day she left him? _

“Okay.”

Bellamy looked relieved at her answer; as if there ever was a possibility she wouldn’t agree to his request. 

Clarke shut her charms book. “What do you want to know?” 

She shifted so her legs hung over the edge of the windowsill, leaving enough space for him to sit beside her. He hesitated for a brief moment and she could see the conflict on his face. When he met her eyes again, he inclined his head and moved to sit beside her.

She could feel his body heat, he was sitting so close. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and she yearned to reach out and touch him. Being so close to him made all of her suppressed feelings rise up. Her whole body ached to be close to him again, to fix whatever was wrong between them.

She shifted a few inches away from him.

“I want to know everything,” he said, breaking her from her thoughts.

So, she told him.

She talked about how the patrons at the Three Broomsticks jolted away from her, and how she was  _ sure  _ she was going to die in the middle of the forest when Dementors floated above her. 

Clarke was tempted to go into details about how the Dementors impacted her — how the creatures made all her worst fears and darkest thoughts rise up — but she didn’t. He wasn’t asking about that day for  _ her  _ — he was asking because she left him behind, and he wanted to know what he missed.

When she recalled the conversation with McGonagall, his fists balled up at his sides, but he remained silent. Only when she mentioned how she froze up with Carrow did he speak.

“You could’ve died,” he told her, his voice empty.

She didn’t waver. “I know.”

When she reached the point of her story when she left McGonagall’s office, her words grew more calculated and her voice more hesitant. Bellamy must’ve sensed the change and locked eyes with her.

“Uhm.” She wet her lips and desperately tried to find somewhere else to stare. She couldn’t look away from him. “This is when I bumped into your sister.”

Bellamy’s expression grew guarded. “Octavia,” he said slowly. “What did she look like?”

Clarke was tempted to lie to him. She wanted to tell him that she looked healthy and happy. She wanted to tell him that she looked just as she remembered.

She couldn’t lie to him, even though she knew the truth would hurt him. 

“She was hurt.” His expression remained blank. “I couldn’t see too much, but she had bruises on her face and a split lip. Other than that, she looked good. She looked strong and she had fire in her eyes. She was reading a book in the hallway, almost like she was waiting for me. Or waiting for Abby.”

“She recognized you?”

“I’m not sure.” Clarke tried to recall the details of the conversation. Things happened so quickly that it was hard to remember. “I didn’t speak to her at first, I was so shocked. She knew I was a Death Eater though, and she tried to pick a fight with me.” Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “I tried to tell her who I was because she was getting angry, but she launched herself at me and punched me in the face.”

“Merlin.” It looked like Bellamy was going to pass out. 

Clarke had to admit; it sounded bad. After all, Octavia physically attacked who she thought was a Death Eater. If it was truly Abby that Octavia attacked, Clarke wasn’t sure what would’ve happened.

“She wouldn’t believe me when I told her who I was. When I tried to tell her I knew you, she fought even harder.” The corners of her lips quirked up. “She’s your sister without a doubt. She has so much fire in her. I don’t know how many times she managed to punch me. When that wasn’t getting anywhere, she yelled for help, which only attracted another Death Eater.” Her smile fell. “It was awful — the things he was saying to her, the things he did to her. Hogwarts is supposed to be safe — it’s supposed to be a home to children — and—”

Bellamy looked horrified and she remembered who she was speaking to. She needed to word things carefully, so he wouldn’t go charging out of the safe house and back to Hogwarts to rescue her. 

“They— they’re hurting students there?”

“Hogwarts is horrifying,” she said, her voice cracking. “They’re punishing students. Detentions are handled by the Carrows, a sibling pair of Death Eaters, and they like to give out twisted punishments. In classes, they’re taught the Unforgivable Curses, and practice on students in detention. Octavia was covered in healing bruises, and…” She swallowed thickly. “Yeah. They’re hurting the students.”

Bellamy didn’t speak, but she could sense tension rolling off him in waves. She wanted to reach out and comfort him — to reassure him things would be okay.

She didn’t.

Clarke continued. “The only time Octavia stopped trying to kill me was when she helped me fight the Death Eater. That’s how I got… You know…”  _ covered in blood.  _ “He knew I was an imposture and tried to kill me. I don’t think I’d be alive without your sister.”

“She believed who you were when you helped take out the other Death Eater?”

“No, I don’t think she would’ve believed me, even after that,” she said. “She believed what I was saying only after my Polyjuice Potion ran out and I turned back into myself.”

They fell silent. Clarke could see the turmoil raging inside Bellamy, so she held off on telling him about the rest of her experience with Octavia. His muscles were taut, his jaw locked, his eyes distant. Even though he was physically beside her, he felt miles away.

“She’s in danger,” he mumbled, more to himself than her. “The school— the— fuck. The Death Eater that found you two. He’s still alive? He’s still—?”

“I did a memory charm on him,” she assured him. “He doesn’t remember anything.” Clarke reached for him on pure instinct. He startled when her hand came to rest on his knee. She didn’t pull away, even though her mind was telling her to. “She’s going to be okay, Bellamy. She’s strong and brave. She’s a fighter.”

He pulled away from her touch, like her fingers burned his skin. Her hand fell back to her lap and her chest constricted.

Bellamy looked sick. He stood up and began pacing around the tiny room. “I need to get her out of there. She’s trapped in this horrible place during the war. I should’ve been there for her, and I should— I need to go get her.” He froze and turned to her, his eyes wide and frantic. “I need to go—”

“Bellamy.” Old habits died hard, as it seemed. She reached for him again. When their skin met, she felt a jolt run down to her elbow. “Listen. Please.” He didn’t fight her touch this time, so she continued. “She insisted that she stay. I offered to get her out of there. I told her to come with me. I told her that we’d all go back to the Order safe house, and that I’d bring her back to you, but… She didn’t  _ want  _ that.”

Her heart cracked from Bellamy’s heartbroken expression. He looked lost and broken and so confused. 

“She wanted to reunite with you,” she corrected quickly. “I know she did. She told me how much she missed you, and you should’ve seen her expression when I told her you were still alive. But she didn’t want to leave Hogwarts — even though she’s in danger, even though they’re hurting her, even though she had a way to escape. She told me that she was needed at the school, that she wanted to be there because this was her way of fighting back. She is standing up to the Death Eaters in class, and refusing their punishments and rules, and helping kids. She’s rebelling and making things difficult for them.”

“That’s dangerous. When are they going to get tired of a witch with a loud mouth and strong morals? When are they going to get tired of a  _ half-blood  _ with the last name Blake causing trouble? When are they going to decide that she’s more trouble than she’s worth and kill her?” She could feel him shaking under her touch. His voice trembled with emotion.

She wished she could tell him everything would be okay, but she couldn’t promise that. She wished he didn’t have to hear the horrors she was subjecting herself to, but he deserved to know the truth. She wished she could take all his worries away.

“She knows it’s dangerous,” Clarke explained, “but she’s choosing to do it anyways. Sometimes, the right thing to do isn’t easy or safe. She’s putting her life at risk to give students being tortured water, and she knows that. She knows she could be caught. She knows she could be put right beside them and tortured — or worse.  _ She knows and she still does it.”  _ A lump was rising in her throat. “She told me, ‘until the last kid is out of this school, I refuse to leave,’ and that she’d ‘rather fight and face the consequences than be safe.’ She’s an inspiration, Bellamy. Octavia is inspirational. Not just to those kids at Hogwarts, but to me as well. She is bringing people hope and showing them that they don’t have to comply. She’s saving lives and bringing fire and  _ that’s her way of fighting.”  _

He looked exhausted and defeated, so she softened her delivery.

“I don’t know your sister, and she doesn’t know me, but I could tell she cared about this. She’s passionate about the fight. She wants to fight for what she believes in, regardless of what happens to her.” Clarke squeezed his arm and he turned to look at her. “I think you’d be really proud of her.”

She could see the battling raging inside of him. 

“I am proud of her,” he agreed. “I just wish she was safe. She’s my little sister, Clarke. I— I—”

“You’re allowed to be worried,” she told him. His eyes were desperate and broken. “She’s doing something dangerous, and you can’t be there to help her. I know you, Bellamy, and I know how hard that must be for you. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

She thought back to what he told her in the bathroom — how she took away the opportunity for him to reunite with his sister. She knew things would’ve gone differently with him there — and with both of them, they might’ve never run into Octavia — but she couldn’t say for certain. Maybe they would’ve bumped into her, maybe they wouldn’t have — but he would’ve had the chance.

With her leaving him, she took the situation out of fate’s hands.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to reunite with her,” she told him. “I know how important she is to you, and I know how much that moment would’ve meant to you. I’m sorry.”

Bellamy’s smile was tight. “It wasn’t really your fault.” Before she could say anything, he continued talking. “I might’ve been a little harsh on you before. Especially with this.” His hand brushed against hers. “I’m sorry.”

These simple words and the simple brush of their hands made her throat grow inexplicably tight. Her heart felt heavy in her chest. Her eyes stung.

“It wasn’t like you knew Octavia was going to be there,” he said. “You didn’t purposefully orchestrate that. You didn’t take that away from me. I was wrong.” Before she could compose herself enough to speak, he gave her a tight smile and pulled away from her. “Thanks, Clarke. For telling me. It’s been on my mind, and…” He shoved his hands in his pockets. The awkwardness enveloped them. “See you.”

And, with that, he was gone.

Clarke stared at the empty doorway for a long moment, trying to process everything that happened.

She couldn’t.

* * *

_ January 17, 1998 _

She couldn’t sleep. Despite the fact she climbed into bed hours ago, her mind refused to shut up long enough to drift away.

_ All she could think of was him. _

She thought of how things were changing between them, yet again. The anger was slowly starting to dissolve. With time, the kinks between them were smoothing out. They discussed the nasty comments they each thought they exchanged, they were slowly working out the Octavia issue, they were giving each other space to think.

While it wasn’t perfect, it was as good as she could imagine. They were making progress — towards what, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure if they’d ever get back to where they were before; not with all the trust she broke, not when he couldn’t see her side of things, not when they were both so hurt.

Maybe they’d never get back to where they were before, but she wanted to be more than the strangers they pretended to be now.

Her thoughts drifted back to under the stairs, when they talked about Octavia. She knew him well, and she could tell he was distressed by what she told him. She knew he would’ve been tempted to go get her and she could only hope what she said convinced him enough to stay.

Clarke wished she could take the pain away from him. She wished that she could shoulder a tiny bit for him, even. She wished they were in a place where they could talk to each other; so she could comfort him and help bear his burdens.

But they weren’t. She wished she could be beside him — instead, she was trapped in a dark room, thinking herself in circles.

Her heart stung when she thought about who was there for Bellamy. She thought back to the first night at Diyoza’s, and how it felt like her whole chest was caving in when Raven flew into Bellamy’s arms and he broke down.

She wanted to be that person for him — someone he could trust, someone he could turn to, someone he could go to for comfort.

It was a petty thing to be jealous over, but  _ she really fucking was jealous over that.  _ Of course, she was happy he had someone to turn to still and she was happy he was with his best friend, but  _ she wanted him to be vulnerable with her like he was with Raven. _

Clarke cleared her throat and turned to face her roommate. “How’s Bellamy doing?” she asked, breaking the silence.

The blankets rustled as Raven turned in bed. Clarke could see the faint outline of her body against the wall through the darkness.

“Bellamy?” she questioned hesitantly. “You’re asking me about Bellamy?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm. I didn’t think you cared.”

_ That stung. _

“Of course I care,” she said heatedly. Clarke tried to even out her voice. “I care about him. I worry about him.”

It was interesting — and heartbreaking — to think about how Raven didn’t know how deep her feelings ran for Bellamy. Did that mean he never told her about what happened while they were on the run? Did he tell her about their nights under the stars, and all the shared kisses, and their hushed conversations?

No. Probably not. It seemed like he wanted whatever they were to stay in the past.

“We were on the run together,” Clarke said after a long moment. “I worry about him. That’s all.”

_ That’s all,  _ she said, like she didn’t love him with everything in her.

“He’s fine,” Raven said, her voice clipped. “He’s… Well… He’s Bellamy. He’s always so quick to try and help others with their issues, but doesn’t want to burden them with his.”

Yeah, that sounded like him.

“He keeps bringing up his little sister to me, like he’s worried about her. Her name is Octavia. I don’t know if you met her?”

Clarke wanted to scream. She wanted to tell Raven she knew about his sister  _ and so much more,  _ but she didn’t. If Bellamy didn’t want Raven knowing about them, she would respect that.

“Yeah. I met her.” It was hard to keep her voice even.

“He found out she’s alive.” Raven’s voice was filled with so much affection. It made Clarke’s heart twinge painfully. “He was so worried about her. They were really close growing up, and he wasn’t sure what happened to her. I think he told you about it during truth and dare back at Kane’s?”

“Yeah,” she said again, her voice clipped.  _ But I know so much more than I did back then,  _ she wanted to add. 

Pretending not to know Bellamy as well as she did was making her stomach churn. What made it worse was the fact that Raven thought she didn’t know the simplest things about him. She wanted to yell about how much she loved him; about how well she knew him. Her frustration was born from jealousy — jealousy that Raven got to see sides of him that she wanted to. 

She tried to keep her emotions at bay.

“He somehow found out she’s alive and at Hogwarts. I think he’d do anything to get back to her, or for her to get back to him. She’s probably the most important thing in his life and it’s killing him being away from her — especially now that he knows where she is.”

Clarke’s hands were fists at her sides as she listened to Raven talk about Octavia. This was exactly what she was worried about; Bellamy doing anything — risking anything — to get back to his sister.

“That’s something I love about him,” Raven continued. “He  _ feels  _ with everything in him. I know you two don’t exactly get along, but, if you two ever manage to see eye to eye, you’ll see how amazing he is. He is so caring and so  _ open _ , you know? There’s some people out there that hide what they’re truly feeling — and then there’s him. When he loves someone, he lets them know.”

_ Ouch. _

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears away.

If he was so open with his feelings to everyone else, what did that say about them? 

Easy. 

He didn’t love her.

Clarke felt a mix of jealousy and sadness overwhelm her. It felt like she was winded; she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. It was like she was drowning.

“He’s struggling with a few things — things he won’t even talk to  _ me  _ about. Which sucks. I don’t know.” Raven sighed. “We usually tell each other everything. We’ve known each other for years and we just get each other. It’s kind of hard to describe. It’s just weird, knowing he is going through something and won’t tell me? I mean—”

“I get it,” Clarke said, her voice coming out sharper than she intended. “You guys are close and you tell each other everything. Don’t need to go on about it.”

Raven was silent for a long moment. Clarke struggled to keep herself from bursting into tears. This was the worst type of anger — it was the one that was wet, the one that caused her throat to tighten and her cheeks to flush and her heart to pound.

“Merlin,” Raven muttered, “ _ you  _ asked  _ me,  _ Griffin.”

“I just mean I get it,” Clarke snapped again unable to contain her annoyance. “You and Bellamy are best friends. He trusts you more than anyone else. He tells you everything and  _ falls apart  _ with you and is  _ vulnerable and open  _ with you. He  _ loves  _ you. I get it.”

“Whatever.”

“You’re right, you’re right. It’s whatever.” Clarke was seething. “You two are just best friends. I get it.”

Raven’s laugh was sharp and it stung. She was always one to return as much fire as she took. “If you didn’t want me to talk about him, don’t ask. Fuck, I know you two don’t exactly like each other, but—”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what?” Her voice was growing sharper the longer they spoke. “It’s because we’re friends then? And you don’t have that in your life? You don’t have someone you can turn to and tell everything? You don’t have someone that understands you and will stand by you through anything? Is that it?”

The words were seemingly ripped from her throat. Her heart was pounding against her chest. She could feel her blood rushing through her veins. Her thoughts had come to a standstill.

_ No. I don’t have that.  _ She thought she had that with Bellamy, but she was clearly wrong. She didn’t even have that with Murphy, because she couldn’t bring herself to be truthful with him about what was going on with her and Bellamy. And she most definitely did not have that with Raven Reyes.

The hard truth was that Raven hit the nail on the head.

“No,” she lied. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Whatever you say.” Raven snorted. “You know, I’m not surprised  _ you’re  _ jealous. Green has always been your colour.”

The blankets rustled again as she spun around. Clarke locked her jaw and glared at the ceiling.

Maybe she was wrong about what she was jealous over, but she was right.

_ Clarke was jealous. _

She tried not to cry.

**.**

“Did someone eat the last box of Lucky Charms?” Murphy slid into the chair opposite of Clarke at the kitchen table.

She was miserable. She barely got a second of sleep during the night, mostly due to guilt, and partly due to the truth in Raven’s words.

She really shouldn’t have taken her jealousy out on Raven. It was ridiculous to be jealous in the first place, and it was horrible that she let it bleed out in her conversation with her.

The longer she thought of it, the worst she felt.

And the longer she thought about what Raven said, the more real her words became.

She didn’t have someone she felt like she could tell everything to. The closest thing she had right now was Murphy, and all she managed to tell him was the fact she loved Bellamy, but they never spoke of  _ how  _ she got to that point. She hadn’t told anybody what happened while they were on the run, and that made the whole month feel like it was a far-off dream.

She wanted what Raven and Bellamy had. She wanted to tell someone everything. She  _ needed  _ to — if she didn’t, she was sure she was going to explode.

Clarke glanced at Murphy, who was leaning forward with a smug expression on his face. A spoon hung from between his lips. She straightened and locked her jaw with determination. 

“I slept with Bellamy.”

He lifted an eyebrow and slowly removed the spoon from his mouth. “Uh. Okay.” He continued eating his cereal.

Clarke stared at him. “That’s it? ‘Okay?’”

Murphy shrugged. “What, did you want me to  _ pretend  _ to be surprised? We can try again.” He mockingly widened his eyes. “You slept with Bellamy? Wow. That’s something I didn’t guess. Not at all. It’s not like you two are absolutely  _ drenched  _ with sexual tension. And you’re not very painfully,  _ obviously,  _ in love with each other.”

“Shut up,” Clarke said. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to help? You came to  _ me  _ for  _ help?  _ Clarke. You’ve gotta be shitting me. You should know by now that I’m the least helpful person on Earth.” She glared at him and his smile cracked. “I’m kidding. You know I’m here for you. Obviously… If it wasn’t already made clear by me trying to murder you with flour and us sticking our necks out together to give insider information to the Order.”

For all of Murphy’s faults, at least he was brutally honest.

“So. You slept with him. Cool. Great. Awesome.” He paused and studied Clarke’s expression. “Unless… It was a mistake? Then… not great?”

“No, that wasn’t my mistake.” Clarke pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I really fucked up.”

_ She told him everything. _

She told him about their tense relationship at the start and their slow reconciliation. She told him about the night Kane’s house was attacked and their brief stay in the Muggle world. She told him about the weeks they spent camping in the forest, away from everything they considered normal.

She told him how she fell in love with Bellamy, and how she messed it all up. She tried to watch his expression closely as she described the day of the mission, but he was just as good as she was at hiding emotions. 

“I’m just confused,” she concluded. “I don’t know. I mean… I get that he’s upset. I would’ve been upset too, if I woke up and saw he went alone on a mission we planned together. But he’s still upset, weeks later. I would think I would’ve been over it by now? I’m pretty sure I would see that it was the only choice, even if it hurt. It was done for the greater good.

“And things got so out of hand. We were both upset and angry, and we said stupid things. They’re cleared up now — kind of — but everything’s still so messed up. Our issue spiralled out of control from being about the mission to being about everything  _ and  _ the mission. Like what we are. And Octavia. And jealousy. And—” Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know.”

“Uh. Okay. Let me think.” He pursed his lips. “The problem isn’t just about you doing the mission alone? It’s about what you guys said while fighting, and Octavia, and… other things?”

“Yeah. I mean, it was. It’s sorted now. Kind of.” Clarke groaned. “We cleared up what we said when we were both mad and we both misinterpreted things. As for the Octavia thing, we talked about that, too, and it’s cleared up. I guess it’s just more so about the whole mission thing right now. He says he needs time to think about it — which I respect and understand — but I don’t know what to do.”

“Merlin. You two are more stubborn than trolls.”

“What?”

Murphy couldn’t hide his smile any longer. “Neither of you are right or wrong, but you are too stubborn to talk to each other about it and admit you’re wrong.”

Clarke frowned. “But I’m not wrong. I regret hurting him, but I don’t regret my actions. I had to do it.”

“You unfairly made choices for the both of you — without consulting him — when you were meant to be a team. I hate to say it, but that’s a shitty thing to do.”

“I know leaving him hurt Bellamy, but there wasn’t any other way. He was sick and the mission needed to get done.” Clarke narrowed her eyes. “It hurt, but it wasn’t wrong.”

“Right, okay.” Murphy rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Let’s see… You could’ve went to Hogsmeade and bought a potion or two. They would’ve taken effect before you guys got to the castle and you could’ve did the mission together like you planned.” He cocked an eyebrow. “And that’s only  _ one _ solution. But, please, continue to think that there was no other way and that you’re in the right.”

_ Fuck. _

Clarke felt like she had been punched in the gut. She felt sick to her stomach as she processed Murphy’s words.

_ There was another way. _

She had been so caught up in thinking that there had only been one option that she had begun to believe it. If she accepted that she was wrong — and that there truly were other options she didn’t consider — that meant—

_ That meant she abandoned Bellamy when she didn’t need to. _

“Fuck.” Clarke’s heart sunk to her stomach. “I really fucked up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, THANK YOU FOR 1000 KUDOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im so emotional. y'all.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Paw  
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	28. Chapter 27: Three Words, Eleven Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HONESTLY, I have been working on this chapter for too long so HERE. TAKE IT.
> 
>  **warnings (spoilers)** : violence, temporary character death (ish?), mentions of vomiting.
> 
> Also, just a fair warning. You'll most likely be confused af at the start of this chapter. Just keep reading, and it'll all make sense. :) (If you have any questions, let me know and I'll do my best to answer quickly!)
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_January 18, 1998_

* * *

Clarke was at peace.

She was in the blissful state between slumber and consciousness; not asleep, but not truly awake either. She was further soothed by the warm body beside hers, and the thick blanket around her shoulders, and the distant chirps of birds in the trees. Even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew who lay beside her.

_Bellamy._

Just the thought of his name made her her melt. The tension evaporated from her body and she snuggled into his side.

As time ticked past, she became more aware of her surroundings. Her breath fogged out in front of her from the chill in the air. Her legs were tangled pleasantly with his under the blankets. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist and it felt _so good._ She felt safe. She felt as if she was home.

This moment — this perfect moment — made everything feel right in the world. Being wrapped up with Bellamy, curled together under a blanket to hide from the winter air, their bodies pressed together so tightly that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get closer to him.

She was happy. _So blissfully happy._ They felt cocooned from the world in this secret paradise. Sure, the paradise was a shitty Muggle tent, but they were together, and they were in love, and things were _good._

“Good morning.” Bellamy’s voice was thick with sleep. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Clarke was overcome with the want to kiss him until they were both dizzy.

“Good morning.” She melted into him and his arms tightened around her. His mouth continued to kiss up her shoulder to her neck. Her toes curled and she let out a sigh of content. 

_Something was tugging at the back of her mind._

_This isn’t right._

_Something’s wrong._

She ignored those thoughts. All she wanted to focus on was Bellamy’s lips against her skin, and the unquantifiable amount of love in her heart, and the bliss in her soul.

She wanted to live in this moment forever.

“What would you say if I suggested we just stay in bed all day?” he asked, his lips ghosting along her skin.

She shifted to face him and captured his lips with her own. The kiss was so sweet that she wanted to cry. “I would agree with you wholeheartedly,” she whispered. His lips brushed against her jaw and her eyes fluttered closed.

Clarke wasn’t sure how long they stayed in bed together. The world seemed foggy from what she could only guess was bliss and peace. She was so happy that it felt like she was floating; like she wasn’t truly attached to her body, like she wasn’t truly existing. The only things keeping her tethered to the world was Bellamy’s body beside hers and the overwhelming amount of emotions in her chest.

His nose pressed against her jaw and she smiled sleepily. “I love you,” she told him, the words rolling from her tongue easily. 

He pressed a sweet kiss to her cheek and his fingers brushed along her side. “I love you, too.”

 _No, he doesn’t,_ something seemed to tell her. _Something isn’t right._

As if the universe could read her thoughts, _everything seemed to go wrong at once._

Between the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the leaves, she heard three distinct cracks. She bolted upright, her heart in her throat, her hands shaking underneath her.

The world seemed to shift in that moment. The crispness of the winter air grew sharper. The birds silenced. The wind halted. The sun bled away.

She held her breath, waiting for something, listening for anything, hoping to all deities that what she heard was merely a figment of her imagination. For a moment, all she could hear was the rush of blood through her ears, then—

_Voices._

Clarke could hear voices off in the distance. They were too far away to distinguish any words, but the sudden appearance of voices alongside the three cracks could only mean one thing.

_They were in danger._

Her eyes locked with Bellamy’s. She could see the horror in his eyes — the same one she felt in her soul. A silent understanding passed between them. 

“We have to go.” Clarke’s voice was hushed and urgent. 

_There was no time to waste._

The three cracks were cracks of Apparition, meaning three witches or wizards arrived nearby. Their voices were growing louder with each passing second. They were getting closer, and closer, and—

With shaking hands, she ripped the blanket off of her body and scrambled off the mattress. Her hand was already curled around the familiar wood of her wand. The steadiness of it brought a calmness to her, but she knew that wouldn’t be enough to protect them — it would _never_ be enough to protect them. They needed charms, and magic, and shields, and—

To leave.

They needed to leave.

Her legs wobbled under her body. She swayed on her feet and the world seemed to tip around her. The feeling reminded her of the time she had too much fire whiskey the time Slytherin won a tight Quidditch match against Ravenclaw.

She grabbed a cloak from a chair and slung it over her shoulders. Bellamy was beside her, hastily pulling clothing up and over his head. The voices were close, close enough that she could almost distinguish what they were saying.

Clarke grabbed Bellamy’s elbow. They locked eyes again.

“If we can hear them, they’ll be able to hear _us,”_ she said. If they were to Disapparte now, they’d hear them and draw them to their campsite. They couldn’t leave everything behind — not Kane’s textbook, and their Polyjuice Potion brewing, and not—

Merlin. Their cauldron was brewing out in the open. If whoever was approaching got close enough, they’d be able to see the cauldron, and they’d know they were magical. 

They were trapped. If they left, they left behind all hope of returning to the Order. If they stayed, they risked encountering hostiles.

“What do we do?” Bellamy asked, his hand finding hers. The strength in his touch seemingly pulled her back to reality. Her thoughts became crisper. The world became clearer. Her panic became sharper.

_What do we do, what do we do, what do we do, what do we—_

The decision was taken from them as soon as the first spell was cast. From what seemed to be an interference of fate, Clarke pulled Bellamy to the ground mere seconds before a stream of red light ripped through the top of their tent.

The ground was wet under her palms, like it had just rained. Her knee prickled from when she slammed it into the ground.

Her heart was pounding. Her throat stung from the cold air. Her whole body shook from adrenaline.

She let her training take over. She jumped up from the ground and shot a stunner out the back of the tent, in the direction the first curse came from. As soon as the spell was out, she cast a shield and called for Bellamy.

“Let’s go! We have to—”

Bellamy pulled her down to narrowly avoid another stunner. What happened to her shield? How did it break so quickly?

It didn’t matter. They needed to survive first. 

Less thoughts. 

More action.

“You’re offensive,” Bellamy ordered. 

They fell into a familiar pattern again with her casting stunners and him shielding them from attacks. It was a deadly dance they had nearly perfected back at Kane’s. She knew him better than she did before, and was able to predict the exact way his body was going to move. Their movements bled together as one.

She sent stunner after stunner out the back of the tent. The silence of the forest was filled with snap after snap of magic. The atmosphere of the tent was charged with what felt like electricity.

She lost track of how long this went on. Time seemed to blur. Her arm ached. Stunner after stunner came into the tent and she was close to hysterics.

 _Nothing she did seemed to do anything._ For every stunner she cast, two came at her. It was like none of her spells were hitting anything.

Bellamy was panting beside her. She wasn’t sure how he was able to cast so many shield charms in succession. She felt exhausted, and he must’ve been doing twice the work as she was.

When she felt a shift in magic around her, her blood ran cold and her movements faltered.

“Anti-Apparition wards,” Bellamy called over the crack of spells.

If the anti-apparition wards were up, that meant they couldn’t go anywhere. They couldn’t escape. They were stuck in this tent, unable to flee. Their only choice was to fight, but nothing she did seemed to be making a difference. 

_They were going to die._

The realization made a numbness settle on her.

They locked eyes. “I love you,” he told her.

Her eyes flashed with defiance. “No,” she said strongly. “No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This isn’t how it ends.” She refused to believe it. She couldn’t believe it. Clarke pulled a fragmented plan together. It wasn’t solid, but it was all they had. “Run. We run, and once we get past the wards, we Apparate.”

A mask settled on Bellamy’s features. He looked like a hardened fighter, ready to charge into battle.

 _They_ **_were_ ** _about to charge into battle._

“Stay close,” he pleaded, his voice desperate.

_They ran._

Spells whizzed past her. The ground was uneven under her feet. Branches stung her skin. The world seemingly faded away.

The world was suddenly made up of the rush of the wind against her ears, and the pounding of her feet against the ground, and the erratic beat of her heart in her chest.

It was miraculous that neither of them had been hit with a spell. Trees splintered beside her head. Soil was uprooted from the ground. Shouting grew closer and closer.

Bellamy turned around the face her as they ran. His eyes were widened with fear. His jaw slack with horror. His face drained of blood.

“Go!” He shouted just in front of her, but it sounded so far away. “Go!”

Everything seemed to happen at once. 

Bellamy came to a stop in front of her and shoved her before she could follow. Their combined momentums sent her tumbling forward along their path or projection. Her feet flew out from under her as the ground disappeared.

She lost track of him as she rolled down a small incline. The air got knocked out of her chest. Tree branches dug into her side. Her foot got hooked on a root jutting out from the ground. Her shoulder connected roughly to stones. Cold water splashed up on her face. She skidded across the forest ground as it evened out under her.

The world was still spinning around her from her fall, but she knew where they were. She was lying along the side of the stream they collected their water from, half-way across the Muggle camping grounds from where they set up their tent.

 _Something’s not right,_ she seemed to think. _She’d been here before. She’d done this before._

Clarke pulled herself onto all fours as quickly as she could. The stone shore was cold under her touch. Her wand was missing. Where was her wand?

She desperately searched around her for it, but it was missing. Where was it? Where—

“Clarke Griffin,” a familiar voice hissed. Every hope of escaping vanished right there. They knew who she was. Her wand was missing. She couldn’t see Bellamy. _They were trapped._ “You’re a hard bird to find, you know that?”

_This isn’t right. She heard those words before._

The world tilted around her as she glanced up from the ground. Standing above her was—

“Jugson,” she croaked. Her throat felt like it was closing in. The last time she saw him must’ve been when she was a child, when him and his wife used to watch her. But… that had been years ago? Why did it feel like more recent than that? Why did it feel like she saw him weeks ago?

“We’ve been searching for you across the country. Even your old friend Parkinson couldn’t tell us where you ran off to, or why, or with who.” The man came to a stop in front of her. Her heart was hammering. She wanted to scream. “Do you know how much trouble you’ve put us through?” 

The words that came from her mouth were of instinct. “Not enough.”

Clarke was positive something was wrong. She had the strongest sense of déjà vu. She saw a flash of a dusty apothecary. She saw the glow of the killing curse. She felt the burn of a potion on her face. She saw Bellamy’s lifeless body on the forest floor as she begged for him to wake up.

_But, if that were the case — if this happened before — why was he here?_

Bellamy came into her line of sight with two Death Eaters holding him by the arms. He thrashed in their grasps, fighting with everything in him to break free. 

_Bellamy._

All thoughts of déjà vu disappeared, being replaced with the _need_ to survive. 

She needed to get to him. 

_She needed to save him._

Blood trickled out from between his lips and down his chin. His eyes were wide and frantic. His gaze darted around the scene before settling on hers. He was shoved roughly to the ground, his knees buckling out from under him.

Moving on pure instinct, Clarke lunged for him. Before she could get three inches, she was thrown backwards from a swift kick to the face.

The water splashed when she crashed into it. She was _sure_ being kicked in the nose was supposed to hurt more than it did, but she chalked it up to adrenaline. She could taste blood running down her face from what was sure to be a broken nose.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind, Griffin.” Jugson said, towering over her. “Your mother would be disappointed in you.”

Clarke couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Her eyes were locked on Bellamy’s. He looked horrified and she was desperate to get to him. With everything in her, she tried to convey her message.

_Don’t fight._

_Stop._

_It’s okay._

**_It’s okay._ **

_I love you._

**_I love you._ **

“You’re a blood traitor, Griffin. That _disgrace_ you are _fucking_ is going to die in the worst imaginable way.”

A crushing sense of dread filled her, freezing her to the ground.

_This was it._

_They were caught._

She was wrong earlier — this was how they were going to die; this was how it was going to end.

A knife pressed against Bellamy’s neck. He struggled against it, but couldn’t move out of the grasp of the Death Eater behind him. Clarke wanted to call out for him, but she couldn’t. She was petrified with horror.

The blade dug into his neck with more force. Blood trickled down his neck. Bellamy locked eyes with her, a look of defiance crossing his features.

_He was going to die._

“Stop,” she begged. Clarke tore her gaze from Bellamy’s to look at Jugson. “Please don’t. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll stop fighting, just please don’t kill him.” She was desperate. The world blurred around her from tears. “Please.”

Jugson smiled. He bent closer to her. “You didn’t give me that mercy, Clarke. You killed me, remember? Now we’ll kill him.”

Clarke lunged forward. The world fragmented around her. Bellamy’s body crumpled to the ground, and—

Clarke bolted upright gasping for air. For a brief moment, she was filled with absolute horror. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for Bellamy, looking for Jugson, looking for—

Raven?

Her heart was pounding wildly when she caught sight of Raven, fast asleep in her bed. It took a long moment for Clarke’s mind to catch up with reality.

_It was a nightmare._

Her arms went weak under her and she collapsed backwards onto the bed. Her sheets were damp under her body. Her face was wet from tears. Her heart pounded. Her stomach flipped.

 _It was just a nightmare._ They hadn’t been attacked while on the run together. Jugson wasn’t alive. Bellamy hadn’t been caught.

Except the image of him falling to the snow-covered ground was fresh in her memory. She could see the blood pouring down his neck and the horror in his eyes. She could _feel_ the devastation that tore her from the inside out as his body fell to the ground. 

He died.

_He died, he died, he died—_

And she watched. She watched as the knife was pressed to his neck. She watched as he struggled against it. She watched as his body fell to the ground.

She couldn’t stop it, she didn’t save him.

_He died._

_Fuck._

Her stomach rolled as she thought of her nightmare. It all felt too real. A cold dread filled her. She was overwhelmed with sorrow and grief and confusion. 

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Her head spun and the room tipped on its side around her.

_She was going to get sick._

Clarke jumped out of bed and raced towards the bathroom down the hall. Her legs shook under her — from fear, from horror, from adrenaline, she wasn’t sure. She emptied to contents of her stomach into the toilet and tried to keep from sobbing out.

She felt _cold._ Not similar to being outside in winter — more like there was something inside of her _eating away all her warmth._ She shook violently and sobbed silently. All she could do was grab the edge of the bathtub and hope she wasn’t going to pass out.

Whenever she closed her eyes, she was brought back to that moment. While it wasn’t real, it didn’t take much to imagine it was. 

_It was so close to reality that it terrified her._

_‘Please don’t. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll stop fighting, just please don’t kill him.’_

_‘You didn’t give me that mercy, Clarke. You killed me, remember? Now we’ll kill him.’_

Her nails dug into her hand and she pressed her cheek against the cool side of the bathtub. Everything seemed so real. _His horror. Her numbness. The running, the fighting, the failing._

Clarke wanted to stop remembering it.

“It’s not real,” she told herself. She felt like a ghost of the person she was during the day; her voice shook, her eyes burned, her stomach churned. “It’s not real.”

_It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real—_

But it felt real. She remembered mornings nearly identical to the one in her dream; when she woke up to soft kisses and even softer words. She remembered rolling down a hill like the one in her nightmare; the details were the same, the crisp air, the wet ground, the rocky shore, the blood-chilling taunts.

_Jugson._

Maybe it was because of her loneliness, or maybe it was because of the darkness, but the guilt and horror that she felt days after murdering the man in her dreams came back full-force. 

“It’s not real,” she said, except it was.

 _She murdered Jugson, just like they murdered Bellamy._ She aimed her wand at his body and shot out the Killing Curse. She killed someone, and that thought haunted her to this day.

Would it ever _not_ haunt her?

“Stop,” she ordered herself. She swiped the back of her hand against her mouth and tried to stop her body from shaking. “Stop. Stop. _Stop.”_

She needed to focus. She needed to relax. She needed to—

“Clarke? Are you okay?”

She jolted from his voice, even though Bellamy spoke in a hushed whisper. Clarke’s gaze darted to his and, for a moment, everything stood still.

She was tempted to lie to him, to tell him that everything was okay, but she couldn’t. _She couldn’t lie to him when he was the only one who could understand._ She couldn’t lie to him when it felt like she lost him only moments ago. She couldn’t lie to him when he was the one to hold her the first time it hit her that she was a murderer.

“I— I—” She clamped her mouth shut, suddenly afraid that the walls she was holding up would shatter if she didn’t.

Bellamy’s gaze swept across hers, his expression unreadable. She couldn’t imagine how horrible she looked in that moment; covered in tears and sweat, shivering on the bathroom floor, her hair tangled.

Before she could answer, he moved into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

Maybe it was because she was terrified and guilty, maybe it was because she dreamt of losing him, maybe it was because she was lulled into safety with him by her side — but the walls around her broke.

“No.”

The strength holding her together gave out and she let out a sob. She bent forward from the force of her silent cries. She felt like getting sick again. By just _seeing him in front of her,_ she could see him in her nightmare.

_Terrified. Bleeding. Dying._

His touch was gentle as he guided her towards his arms. She wasn’t sure when he sunk to the floor beside her, but decided that it didn’t matter. Clarke released her hold on the bathtub and fell into his embrace. His warmth seemed to engulf her, snuffing out the darkness that filled her with ice.

He held her as she cried, just like he did so many times before.

They were sources of comfort after so many weeks alone, after they spent so many nights awake from nightmares and from the horror of reality.

She couldn’t force herself to pull away from him or to question what they were doing. This felt normal. It felt right. It felt _safe._

And that was what she needed.

_She needed normal._

_She needed him._

Despite everything they had been through, this felt right. Despite things being confusing between them, it was _Bellamy_ who came out to check on her, and it was _Bellamy_ who she wanted. She didn’t want Raven or Murphy in that moment — she just wanted him.

“Why?” she questioned, her voice cracking. “Why are you here?”

 _We aren’t together,_ she wanted to remind him. _You don’t need to hold me as I fall apart._

He was silent for a long moment. “Because I care about you,” he said. His thumb rubbed circles onto her bicep. “I meant that when I said it before. No matter what, I’ll always care about you, Clarke.”

It was so close to the words she dreamed of hearing. _“Because I love you,”_ she wanted him to say — just like he did in her nightmare. For all the horrors she witnessed, hearing those words come from his lips was one beautiful piece to it all.

His hands ran along her sides soothingly. Tenderly, he brushed her hair from her face. Clarke clung to him as she sobbed. Her hands grasped at the fabric of his sleep shirt and her nose pressed against the side of his neck. She could feel his pulse against her body, and she could feel his breath on her skin, and _Merlin._

He was alive.

He was alive, and he was here, and—

It suddenly hit her how ridiculous everything was. Kane’s thoughts from months ago came back to her. _“While some of us might clash or butt heads, we’re all on the same side of the war. Whatever happens while you’re here, you have to remember that this is a bubble. Out there, your worst enemy isn’t going to be someone who wants to beat you at a game – they’re going to want to kill you.”_

Even though they weren’t enemies like they were back then, they were holding back from each other. The circumstances might’ve been different, but the message was the same.

They were in a war, and the next day was never guaranteed. The cold truth was that it was _easy_ that her nightmare could’ve been reality. All it took was for their wards to fail one time, or for Jugson to have been a bit quicker when he cornered them, or for her failing to perform wandless magic one time.

 _All it took was one time,_ and her nightmare would’ve been reality.

In Diyoza’s, they were living in a bubble, just like they were at Kane’s. They lived their life like the world outside didn’t impact them. They lived like they were still students, when the world wasn’t filled with chaos and death, when their futures were guaranteed. It was naive to live like that now, when there was a war going on outside, when any of them could die at any second.

She loved him without a doubt in her mind, and he cared about her, but they were both holding back. She hated to admit it, but Murphy was right; she was stubborn and head-strong. She believed she was right, and refused to listen to other perspectives; she refused to consider she might’ve been wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said. She pulled her head away from where it was nestled against his neck and locked eyes with him, hoping it would convey how deep her apology was. And again, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, misunderstanding what she was apologizing for. “Are you sick?” he asked, his voice hushed. His hand pressed against her forehead. “You don’t feel like you have a fever…”

“No.” She inched away from him and took a long moment to ensure her composure. His eyes were so focused on hers, so concerned, so _Bellamy._ Seeing the amount of affection in his eyes made her falter, suddenly not wanting different emotion to take its place. Maybe it was a coward’s move, but she didn’t correct him. “I had a nightmare.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

And, while it wasn’t why she was originally apologizing, she was sorry about this, too.

“I’m not.” His hands rubbed soothing circles into her back, easing her back into his arms. She clung to him, chasing the safety that came with his embrace. “I’m here for you. No matter what.”

He held her like he had for so many nights. This was a normal for them; one of them would wake up in the night screaming, the other would try and whisper away the demons. Except, this time, they were both silent.

Maybe that’s why her demons didn’t seem to leave her alone.

“You’re shaking,” he pointed out after a long while. Clarke wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The passing of time seemed alien when the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. “Do you want a calming drought?”

She did, she really did. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without one, and she didn’t want to stay up because that meant thinking. 

“Okay,” Bellamy said. His hold loosened. Clarke’s heart shot out of her chest. Panic engulfed her. “Diyoza keeps them in the kitchen. I’ll get one. Just—“

“No,” she pleaded. Her grip tightened on his shirt. “Please don’t. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. Please—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he promised her. His eyes bore into hers. “I’ll stay. It’s okay.”

Clarke felt sick again. Her pleas to Bellamy sounded too similar to her pleas to Jugson in her nightmare. Bellamy’s arms around her body made her feel woozy — not because she didn’t want the affection, but because it reminded her that they weren’t in the position to give it freely to each other. 

“Let's get the calming drought together.”

And so, together, they made their way to the kitchen. Bellamy kept a firm arm around her waist, keeping her steady on her weak legs. Clarke felt woozy and lightheaded.

“I lost you,” she said as soon as they were past all the bedrooms. Bellamy glanced at her. “In my nightmare. I dreamed about when we were on the run. We were attacked. It felt so real.” Clarke’s grip on his arm tightened and she didn’t dare look up at him. “You know when we came back from Diagon Alley?”

He was wary when he answered. “When you and the Death Eater…?”

_When you murdered that Death Eater?_

“Yeah.” Her mouth was dry. “It was _exactly_ like that, except they had _you_ and I couldn’t save you— I was— And you were—”

“It was a nightmare,” he told her. The light was better on the main floor of the house, and she could see his facial features under the silver moonlight. His gaze still contained that same concern he had for her in the bathroom. “You _did_ save me, Clarke. I don’t know what happened in your nightmare, but you saved me when it mattered. The only reason I’m alive is because of you.”

She knew it was true, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling of failure from her. She couldn’t stop imagine him _dying_ right in front of her, even though he was pressed to her side now.

And, beyond that, she couldn’t shake the horror that came with Bellamy’s reminder of reality. _She really murdered Jugson._

She tightened her hold around his waist.

She sunk onto the couch once they reached the living room, and she immediately missed his warmth and comfort. His eyes searched hers for a brief moment, illuminated only by the moonlight that made it through the cracks in the curtains. She took a moment to examine his messy hair and creased clothing, clearly having just woken up. Clarke doubted she’d ever forget the features of his face she studied them for so long while on the run, but she allowed herself to drink in those details again.

_Freckles like constellations, eyes with warmth like the sun, lips curved so perfectly, dimples that made her heart flutter._

He pulled back quickly. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

With that promise, he was gone.

Clarke’s eyes darted around the room, settling on shadows that made her heart pound. She regretted leaving her wand beside her bed. The familiarity of the wood would’ve comforted her.

She thought back to the bathroom, and how she stopped herself from telling him the real reason why she was apologizing. He thought she was apologizing for waking him up, but it was so much more than that. She was apologizing because she _knew_ she did things wrong and hurt him, and that was the opposite of what she ever wanted to do. She was apologizing because they were supposed to be a team, and she made choices for the both of them alone. 

She was apologizing for being stubborn and waiting for _him_ to apologize or get over their issues was putting things unfairly on him.

She didn’t want to be stubborn anymore. Their future wasn’t guaranteed, and nobody knew how long they’d live in this bubble of a safe house for.

While she didn’t expect him to forgive her, she wanted to _try._ She wanted to do everything she could to make this work. She wanted to show him that she was willing to try and move past this, that she wanted to do better, that she regretted hurting him.

There was one thing she was taught her whole life; actions spoke louder than words. Forgiveness wasn’t a singular event, it was a process, and it started with them both overcoming their stubbornness and apologizing. After that, she’d do everything she could to show him that she was sorry, and then it would be up to him.

Bellamy returned quicker than promised, two small vials in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “A calming and a sleeping drought,” he explained. “You don’t have to take either of them if you don’t want to, but I thought I’d bring them just in case.”

He sat so close on the couch next to her that their elbows and knees brushed together. The contact made her tense up for a brief moment, but she quickly relaxed.

“Thank you.” 

Clarke took both potions from him and rolled them in her palm. She had no question in her mind — she was going to take both of them — but she also knew that as soon as she did, she would lose her wit, and she had so much left to say.

_There was so much that she needed to say._

He mistook her hesitation as indecision. “You don’t have to take either,” he said again. “I know you aren’t the biggest fan on sleeping potions, but I’d be around with a reinvigoration potion if something were to happen while you were sleeping.”

Her heart swelled with fondness because _of course_ he’d remember that about her.

“Here.” Bellamy shuffled on the couch to pull down the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. He wrapped it over her shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “If you stay down here, I’ll check on you. If you want.”

She didn’t just want him to _check_ on her, she wanted him to _stay_ with her.

Clarke didn’t know how to ask him that, so she merely nodded. “I’d like that.”

She wasn’t sure where to start either — the issue seemed so big that it was daunting to find a starting point — so she laid down on the couch. Her feet tucked up so she wasn’t poking Bellamy, and, without a physical touch, he felt so far away.

A part of her hoped he felt the same way, and that was why his hand came to rest on her leg through the thin blanket. She missed the intimacy of skin to skin contact, but the weight and warmth of his hand managed to calm the storm inside of her.

She felt brave under the darkness. She caught his eyes and held his gaze. “In my nightmare, I lost you. And… And I wake up and realize I’m _still_ losing you. Not in the same way, I know, but _I don’t want to lose you at all.”_ Her throat tightened and her eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

Once she started, she didn’t want to stop. 

She wasn’t doing this for herself, and she wasn’t doing this because she missed them — she was doing this because _she finally understood._ After talking with Murphy, she finally understood how some of her actions could’ve been perceived. She didn’t want to keep hurting him. She didn’t want to keep fighting with him. 

“I thought I was in the right by leaving you, because it was for the greater good, but I realize now that the end does not justify the means. I don’t regret completing the mission that day because it led us here. It saved our lives. It _was_ for the greater good.

“I regret hurting you though. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not discussing it with you first.” Even though he never would’ve let her do the mission alone, it was wrong to sneak behind his back. “We were supposed to be partners, and I acted alone. Partners are supposed to speak to each other and discuss things, and I… didn’t. 

“And beyond us just being on the run together and planning a mission together, I—” _Fuck._ Her chest ached. “We were always more than just _partners on the run._ We were together, even if we never defined us in that way. I always considered us to be together, and to be in a relationship. And… Relationships are about trust. They’re about working together, and making decisions together, and being partners. When I made the choice to do the mission alone, I wasn’t acting with that. I betrayed your trust by not including you in the decision, and I’m sorry for that. I know how much that must’ve hurt you, and I promise you that was never my intention.

“You don’t have to forgive me. I’m not doing this for forgiveness. I’m doing this because you deserved better. You were justified to be upset with me. I just… I want you to know I’m sorry and that I regret it. I want to make it up to you and I want to do better.”

Her heart was racing when she finished talking. She sucked in a few deep breaths in hopes of calming her nerves, but no luck. It felt _good_ to get it all out, but it was also terrifying — so utterly terrifying.

Bellamy was silent for a long moment. She studied his face closely, but he kept his expression guarded. She wasn’t sure if it was from the nightmare or from this conversation, but she had the strongest urge to cry.

She was so tempted to say something else, to try and fix things even more. Then again, what could she say that she hadn’t already? She didn’t want to push him towards forgiveness, even though that was what she desperately wanted, because that was his choice — and his choice alone. This wouldn’t be right if she forced him to forgive her, and they’d be no further ahead. Instead, they’d be—

“I forgive you.”

Clarke never heard sweeter words.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing. The lump in her throat throbbed. Her heart ached wonderfully. All thoughts and doubts in her mind fell silent.

“I’m not completely innocent either,” Bellamy continued. “I was mad and hurt by you leaving me, and it spilled over into other things. I made it about Octavia, and I took that out on you unfairly. 

“And — fuck — I was _so worried for you,_ and it was so unfair to be sidelined like that.” His fingers tightened the slightest bit. “It’s like you said. We’re supposed to be partners, and I felt like all of that was stripped away when you left. I was so focused on worrying about you, and then so focused on being upset and hurt, that I didn’t stop and try to understand where you were coming from. I get it. I mean, it hurt, and I wish you wouldn’t have done it, but I get you were trying to do something for the overall good. I’m sorry I didn’t understand that earlier. And I’m sorry for saying awful things to you back at camp.” He smiled. “Can you forgive me?”

Clarke wanted to sob. It felt as if the final pieces were clicking into place. 

“I forgive you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

It all boiled down to both of them misinterpreting comments and, as Murphy put it, being as stubborn as trolls. If only they had talked to each other long ago, they might have figured it out sooner.

They both made mistakes. They both had regrets. Neither of them could turn back time to change the past, even though they both regretted it.

This was how they moved on. Slowly and surely. By talking through it. By being open and understanding. By recognizing she _wasn’t_ completely in the right, just as he did.

With that settled, Clarke uncapped both potions and took them in succession. Within seconds, she could feel their effects. The tension left her muscles. Her hands stopped shaking. A warmth blossomed from her chest, chasing away the coldness in every corner of her body. Her thoughts slowed to nearly a halt and her eyelids became heavy.

Yes, magic was a wonderful thing.

“And, Clarke?” Bellamy asked. She snuggled deeper into the couch and made a sound of acknowledgment in her throat. “I agree with you. We were always more than just on the run together. I liked to think that were together — in a relationship — even if we never defined it like that. You — us — it meant too much to me to be anything less.”

She was struggling to stay awake. She heard his words, but fully understanding them felt like a ‘tomorrow’ task. For now, all she knew was the fact they made her heart swell with love for him.

“Mmm,” she hummed. Her eyes slid shut. Her toes hit the side of his leg when she stretched. “I love you, Bellamy.”

She fell asleep easily with him beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heck yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. finally finally finally. GOODNESS. THIS TOOK FOREVER. I'm so glad we're finally at this point of the fic because uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh it took too long. Fun fact: their fight was never apart of my original plan for this fic, which is why these last few chapters took me ages to write! It was constantly write, adjust plan, write, adjust plan, write, rewrite, adjust plan, etc. Now that we're back on track with my original plan, things should flow smoother for the rest of the fic!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> Paw  
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	29. Chapter 28: Sweeter than Syrup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why is december going by so fast?!
> 
> enjoy :)

**_CLARKE_ **

_ January 19, 1998 _

* * *

Clarke woke up from a rough shake of the arm. Her gaze was blurred, but she easily made out Raven standing above her. 

“Good. You’re alive.” She pulled back. “Murphy cooked breakfast.”

Before Clarke was fully awake, Raven was gone. She glanced around the room and tried to put fuzzy memories together. 

She was in the living room. A blanket was draped over her body. A half-empty glass of water was an arms length away. The night was a blurry mess, but she doubted the terror that gripped her would ever disappear. Even now, with the sound of chatter drifting from the kitchen and the golden sun rays hitting the coffee table, Clarke could feel the remnants of them. 

Before she could think too much, she hauled herself up and made her way to the kitchen.

Her stomach growled as soon as the scent hit her. Banana pancakes. Merlin, when was the last time she had that? Maybe at Hogwarts, years ago. 

She entered the kitchen to what could only be described as a war zone. Murphy was standing in front of the stove, black smoke billowing above his head. Raven was balancing all the dining utensils in one hand while her other hand clutched at her side from laughter. Diyoza leaned against the counter, a cup of coffee in her hands and a lifeless look on her face.

“Oh, good.” Diyoza’s gaze flicked to hers as she walked in. “You’re not going to miss Murphy’s first attempt at pancakes.”

“Save yourself,” Raven warned, glancing back at Murphy. “He’s burned half the batter already.”

“It’s not burned, it’s crispy!”

The universe loved to fuck with Murphy. As soon as he spoke, the fire alarm in the corner of the kitchen started going off.

Diyoza sighed. “John, turn on the vent please. I’m not in the mood to deal with the house almost burning down. Again.”

“Woah.” Bellamy walked up beside her, a towel around his neck. He smelled  _ really good.  _ Her gaze was drawn to his. Piece of the previous night drifted back; his hand on her leg, his arm around her waist, their whispered forgiveness and understanding. It made her body fill with warmth that rivalled the sun. “What’s going on?”

“Bellamy, Clarke; deal with the alarm.” Diyoza abandoned her cup of coffee to assist Murphy. Bellamy turned to her in confusion. She almost forgot how cute he was up close.

(As if. She doubted she’d ever forget how fucking adorable Bellamy Blake was.)

(It  _ was  _ nice to stare at him openly again, though.)

“Murphy’s trying to burn down the house.” Clarke explained. Her eyes danced across his expression, soaking up all the details, before pointing to the flashing alarm. “How do we silence the… thing?”

She followed Bellamy into the kitchen. He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and positioned it right under the flashing alarm.

“You’re not afraid of heights are you?”

Clarke laughed. “You  _ know  _ I’m not afraid of heights. Who was it that led their team to victory on a flying broomstick?”

“Me,” he cut in quickly, his grin coy.

A warmth bubbled up in her chest and she couldn’t contain her smile. There was something so familiar about their playful banter and light smiles. It made her heart ache with fondness.

It seemed that they both were actively trying to put their past behind them.

She grabbed a dish cloth from the counter and climbed up on the chair being held steady by Bellamy. As she fanned the Muggle machine, she glanced down at him.

He was looking at her too, his expression soft and amused. His hands were held inches away from her legs, ready to catch her if she fell. 

_ After everything, she still trusted him to catch her if she fell. _

She wished he’d just close the distance between them. While the previous night was fuzzy thanks to the potions she took, she remembered how comforting his touch was.

“You slept okay after the potions?” he asked, his voice dipping in volume.

“I did. I didn’t keep you up, did I?” She recalled him promising that he’d check on her through the night.

“No. I fell asleep after it looked like you were going to be out for the night.”

Clarke wondered where they stood.

_ They. _

It was a strange concept, after spending so many weeks thinking of him as something so far away. ( _ After spending so many weeks feeling so far away from him.) _

She tried to remember the details of what they talked about, but things got fuzzy when she downed the potion. She remembered her apology and his forgiveness (and how sweet that felt). She remembered his apology, and the hurt in his voice, and the genuinity of his words.

Merlin.

Her hand stilled as she remembered exactly what she said.

_ She told him she always thought of them as being together.  _ While she was apologizing, she said that she always considered them to be in a relationship. The words felt so natural at the time, and that didn’t surprise her — Bellamy always made her feel comfortable. 

And… he agreed?

_ ‘I liked to think that were together — in a relationship — even if we never defined it like that. You — us — it meant too much to me to be anything less.’ _

Her heart pounded a little harder in her chest as she recalled his words.

What did it all mean?

They both admitted to thinking of themselves as being in a relationship. They both said they considered what they had to be more than  _ just friends,  _ or  _ friends with benefits,  _ or  _ allies.  _

But what did that mean? What did that change? How did that impact them today?

Clarke didn’t know what to think. Did their confessions mean they were in a relationship then and, therefore, a relationship now? Did it mean they broke up the day they arrived at Diyoza’s?

Where did they stand?

Clarke glanced back down at Bellamy. He was watching her, his expression guarded. She knew him well enough to know there was something on his mind.

Maybe she was naive to hope that they were thinking about the same thing.

“Are we okay?” Clarke asked.

Bellamy’s gaze focused on hers. His smile made her heart skip a beat.

“Yeah. We are.”

She nearly fractured into pieces at that. Her throat tightened. Her eyes met his in shared desperation. It seemed like it had been so long since they were on the same page; since they shared this understanding.

His hands brushed against her leg. Her heart hammered in her chest. “What do you remember from last night?”

Despite the memories being a little fuzzy, she had no doubt in her mind. 

“Everything.” 

She remembered her nightmare, and she remembered sobbing in the bathroom, and she remembered Bellamy’s comforting embrace. She remembered their whispered apologies and their reached understanding. She remembered him telling her that he agreed with her, that whatever they were was more than just friends on the run — that  _ they  _ were something. She remembered—

Oh.

_ Oh, no. _

Clarke turned to him, her eyes wide and heart pounding. Did she—? Did she really—?

_ Did she really tell him that she was in love with him. _

He was staring straight at her, seemingly peering into her soul, waiting for her answer.

She opened her mouth, but no words followed. 

What was she supposed to say?  _ I didn’t mean it?  _ Except, she did.  _ I’m sorry?  _ Except, she wasn’t.  _ I was delirious from sleep.  _ Except, even though she was, what she said was still the truth.

“Bellamy,” she started, her voice tense. “I—”

“Breakfast!” Murphy called, putting an end to their moment. Bellamy leaned away from her, tension leaving his shoulders. Clarke watched helplessly as their moment dissolved into thin air.

_ Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

It felt like that was their chance — a chance to close the metaphorical distance between them.

_ It was her chance. _

And it was gone.

As Clarke climbed off the chair, Bellamy leaned towards her, his expression unreadable. “Later, okay? We’ll talk later.”

“Okay.” She tried to keep her voice from shaking.

Breakfast was an interesting affair after they managed to shut the alarm off. Murphy placed a plate of what could  _ almost  _ be considered well-done pancakes in the centre of the table. Clarke sunk into her seat and Bellamy sat across from her.

Diyoza and Raven were talking about recently implemented Quidditch rules, but Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to pay attention to what they were saying. 

Her attention kept drifting towards Bellamy.

Maybe she didn’t admit she loved him. He was acting like everything was normal. He wasn’t trying to avoid her gaze, he sat directly across from her, and — even before she remembered her half-delirious confession — he hadn’t been avoiding her.

_ You imagined it,  _ she tried to tell herself.

She only partially believed it.

As breakfast progressed, she started to believe it more and more. They were too normal for her memory to be true.

Their eyes met across the table and she smiled. Bellamy raised his eyebrows and stuffed half a pancake into his mouth. She wrinkled her nose when syrup dropped down his lips.

In that moment, nothing else seemed to matter. All she cared about was this easy normalcy between her and Bellamy. While it wasn’t exactly like it was before — they still had a lot of work to do to get back to that — they were taking steps.

He bumped her leg under the table with hers.

She bumped his back.

Her heart was racing just like it did when she first began to see him as more than just a friend. Her stomach came alive with butterflies. Her heart was light with joy and playfulness. 

Bellamy soaked his pancakes with maple syrup. Clarke watched in horror as his plate took on the appearance of a marsh. When he noticed her hesitation, he smiled wickedly, reach across the table, and dumped some of syrup onto her plate.

“No,” she complained, swatting at his hand. He dodged her attempts. “Bellamy.” She pouted pathetically and he cackled.

“It’s good for you. You’re supposed to eat lots of fruits.”

“Everything in that statement is wrong,” she said. “Syrup is not a fruit. Why— How— What??”

Bellamy stopped trying to drown her pancakes. His grin was playful and it made her heart flip. 

“It comes from trees, right? Therefore fruit.”

“Bellamy, what the fuck?” Raven jutted in. “That’s not how it works. That shit is 90% sugar.”

Bellamy turned his attention to the girl beside him and Clarke bit her lip to try and contain her smile. His foot tapped against hers. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.

It might’ve been childish, these games they played, but it made her heart race and her stomach flip.

“Clarke.” She broke her stare and turned to Diyoza at the head of the table. “Are you okay?”

Her cheeks flushed and she felt awkward under her careful and calculated gaze. She tried to keep her voice even. “Fine. I’m fine. Just distracted.”

Diyoza’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “I meant after last night. I heard you up around four.”

_ Oh. Right. _

Clarke wanted to sink into the shadows. Of course Diyoza would be talking about last night, not the playful banter she had with Bellamy.  _ Right, right, right. _

“Oh.” She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bellamy trying to hide his smile behind pancakes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I had a nightmare.” She swallowed her bite of food thickly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“I’m a light sleeper,” Diyoza admitted. “That comes with the territory of running a safe house full of teenage fugitives.”

“Cheers to that.” Murphy dropped the next plate of pancakes on the table and smirked at Diyoza. She rolled her eyes fondly.

“I was just worried. I heard how upset you were, but Bellamy beat me on checking up on you.” The conversation turned to Bellamy. “Thank you for taking care of each other. I’m glad everyone’s getting along better than they did a few weeks back.”

“Less punching is always a good thing,” Murphy agreed. He waved the spatula in their direction. “Enough about Clarke. What we need to talk about is the next supply run. I’m sick of Corn Pops. If I have to smell another piece of yellow puffed corn in milk again, I’ll walk out of this house and never come back.”

Clarke snorted. “You always had a flair for dramatics.”

“Hey. You don’t get to talk, Griffin. I had enough Lucky Charms stocked up to last  _ weeks,  _ but then you come along and devour it. Please. I’m doing this for you as much as it is for me.”

Hm. Well, he wasn’t wrong about the Corn Pops situation. That was a disappointing breakfast cereal.

Diyoza launched into upcoming plans for the safe house, including a transfer of supplies within a few days. The supplies in this safe house were dwindling because of the sudden appearance of her and Bellamy. They’d need to organize a transfer of supplies sometime in the next week between the two safe houses she managed. She kept it brief, but Clarke was already excited by the prospect of it.

They’d get to leave the safe house and do a mission. While it wasn’t exactly a dangerous mission, it was something, and it meant leaving these four walls, which she was thankful for. It felt like forever since she breathed in fresh air.

As soon as Diyoza finished speaking, Bellamy pushed back from the table, his expression unreadable. She imagined that his gaze lingered a little bit longer on hers, and it made her heart skip a beat.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said, his voice even. Hesitation was rising in her. Why did it feel like he was hiding something? Why did he suddenly feel so closed off? “I assume you made pancakes because you couldn’t eat anymore Corn Pops?”

“Please.” Murphy tried to keep his tone light, but she could hear the hostility underneath. “I’m just a great person and made pancakes for my housemates. That’s all.”

Bellamy placed his plates in the sink. She tried to catch his eyes, but he was pointedly avoiding her. 

_ Great. _

He glanced down at his hand and scowled. “The worst part about pancakes is the syrup.”

“Says the man who used half the bottle himself,” Raven murmured.

Bellamy inched towards the doorway, his eyes still locked on his hand. “It’s just sticky. And makes a mess. I’ll have to wash my hands. Really well.”

Murphy stared at him like he was sprouting a second head. “... you… you can wash them here? You know that right? There’s a perfectly good sink  _ right there.” _

Bellamy’s expression remained nonchalant. “I like the soap upstairs better.” He caught Clarke’s eye for a brief moment before he turned and left the kitchen.

Well… That was odd.

Clarke took another bite of her pancakes and contemplated Bellamy’s sudden change in attitude. Why was he making such a big deal about washing hands and using certain soaps? While they were camping, he cleaned his hands using river water.

That’s right.  _ River water.  _ How could the kitchen sink be worse than that?

And what was with his strange attitude? It was like he was pretending she didn’t exist, like—

Clarke caught Murphy’s eye. Raven and Diyoza had already moved onto the next topic of conversation and were too engrossed with it to notice Murphy’s exasperated gestures. He widened his eyes and pointed at the door frantically.

What?

If Bellamy wanted to be strange a cryptic, then sure, be her guest. But now Murphy? What was—

Oh.

_ Oh shit. _

Clarke felt like an idiot. He was subtly (or not so subtly) hinting at her to follow him.

Murphy gave her the thumbs up. She bolted up from her seat and cringed as Raven and Diyoza’s eyes turned to her.

“Uh. Goodbye. I mean. Goodnight. Kind of.” Clarke quickly made her way to the sink to rinse her plate. “I’m just tired. Really tired. I’m going to catch some sleep. Now... Right now.”

“Salazar,” Murphy groaned under his breath.

Clarke would admit, that wasn’t the most graceful exit of her life. She hoped Murphy would help clean up the mess for her. He owed her. 

For something. 

Probably.

Whatever, that was something to figure out later.

She walked hastily up the stairs and towards the shared bathroom. Her heart was pounding. Her mind was uncharacteristically silent. Her stomach was doing nervous flips.

Her steps slowed as she approached the bathroom. The door was cracked open an inch, letting the fluorescent light spill into the hallway. When she heard water running from the bathroom, she doubted what she thought he was hinting at. If he had been hinting at her to follow him, why would he be  _ actually  _ washing his hands?

Maybe she misinterpreted. 

Maybe he was really just going to wash his hands. Maybe he wasn’t hinting her to follow. Maybe he didn’t want to talk.

She froze a few paces away from the bathroom door. She thought back to the previous night, how he held her as she sobbed against the bathtub. She thought about how the world felt right and things felt okay again when they were together. She thought about how she let go of some of her pride and admitted she made mistakes and had regrets. She felt so relieved when they both came to the same understanding — that neither of them had been entirely right or wrong.

And she thought about this morning; his hand on her leg, his foot bumping against hers, the easy banter, the light smiles. It was like they were both slowly settling back into their molds from before.

Clarke steadied herself and straightened her back. You know what? Fuck it. If he was truly just coming upstairs to wash her hands, so be it. She was done assuming things between them. She was done making mistakes. She was done with inactions.

She padded her way across the hallway and pushed the bathroom door open just enough to slip in. Clarke bumped into Bellamy’s chest and left the air leave her chest.

“Oh. Hi.”

_ Smooth. Real smooth.  _

Bellamy leaned against the vanity and faced the door, his expression unreadable still. The door closed behind her, yet she didn’t move backwards out of his space. Time seemed to stand still in that moment. 

She tried to find the right words for that moment, but everything seemed inadequate. 

How, exactly, does one tell the person they loved how important they were? How does one someone they can’t imagine their future without them — that she didn’t  _ want  _ to imagine her future without him. How did she manage to convey how sorry she was, and how much she missed him, and how badly she wanted things to go back to how they were between them.

She tried to convey all of that through her eyes. She examined his face, drinking in all the details she had been trying not to think about recently. His freckles that looked like constellations, his eyes that seemed to soak in the light around them, the way his curls hung over his forehead, the scar on his upper lip.

_ His lips.  _ Her breath left her chest as she studied them. They were inches away from her and she yearned to capture them with her own. 

He was beautiful and she wanted him. She wanted this tension between them to be over. She wanted to love him and show him that love every waking moment.

Their gaze met again. Being this close to Bellamy stole all thoughts from her mind and breath from her lungs. 

She recognized the emotion in his eyes, and it made her heart pound. 

_ Affection.  _

_ Desperation.  _

_ Want.  _

Those were the same emotions reflected in her gaze, she was sure.

And, really, there was nothing left to say.

Their lips met with tenderness she didn’t know she possessed. This kiss was short and shallow, and it ended before it truly began, yet it made her knees wobble and her heart race. 

She pulled away from him, her eyes wide and her breathing shallow. Bellamy stood frozen for a beat before reaching up and cupping the side of her face. 

Her resolve cracked. Suddenly, she didn’t care about why they shouldn’t kiss. All she cared about was being with him and showing him how much she loved him.

They both moved together at once, like they were the tides of the ocean being pulled to shore. Her hands grasped at the front of his shirt, holding herself steady, pulling their bodies closer and closer. His arms wrapped around her middle and she melted into his embrace.

She forgot how it felt to kiss him. It was sweet, and it was tender, and it was passionate. With their bodies connected, it wasn’t just  _ her  _ — it was  _ them.  _ It wasn’t just physical — she could feel it in her heart — in her soul.

This kiss was filled with more desperation — more  _ need,  _ more  _ want.  _ Their movements were frantic, like they were drowning and searching for air. Her teeth pulled at his lips. His hands dug into her side. She threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged his face closer to hers.

Clarke’s body ached. The ache was different than the one borne from pain and hurt over the last two weeks. That one made her feel like her body was breaking into a thousand pieces. The ache right now was sweeter than that one; it reminded her of her muscles after a workout; like if she didn’t get more of him, right then and there, she’d burn away.

She leaned into his touch when he cradled her cheek. Being held like this again made her realize just how long they’d been apart. She never wanted that again — that space, that distance, that disconnect. 

Clarke felt Bellamy smile against her lips, and it made her heart swell with fondness, and affection, and  _ love.  _ Merlin, she loved him so much. She didn’t want a day to go by without telling him — without showing him.

They parted for air, their chests heaving. Bellamy’s fingertips trailed down her neck, his touch so light that it made shivers run down her spine. He pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, and—

“I love you, too,” he breathed.

_ And there it was. _

The words they both had been dancing around for weeks now, the words that she felt in the deepest corners of her soul, the words that had been on the tip of her tongue every time she saw him.

“I can’t pretend otherwise anymore. I love you, Clarke Griffin,” he said again. “My Slytherin Princess; the head to my heart... I am in love with you.”

He was looking at her like she hung the stars in the sky, and it made her heart slow. There was so much love and safety in their embrace that it calmed the storm inside of her.

He pressed their foreheads together for a brief moment — a move so intimate that it made her breathing hitch. 

“I love you, Bellamy,” she said, her voice hushed.

It felt so right to say — just as right as it felt to be kissing him.

There were not enough words in any language that could convey what she felt in that moment. 

_ So, she showed him. _

Clarke captured his lips with her own once again, and hoped all of the love and affection in her heart spilled through. Her fingers curled along his jaw and her thumb swept along her cheek. It felt like her heart could’ve split in two from the amount of emotion cascading from it.

They stumbled backwards a step and Bellamy’s back hit the edge of the vanity. She used this to press further into him, somehow squeezing more of the space away. Their hands were everywhere. She couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted to feel every inch of him, to love every inch of him.

_ Love. _

Fuck. 

They were in love.

It was easy to get lost in the kiss after that. They were a mess of warm breaths and soft touches and deep kisses.

Their kisses quickly turned from ones of passion to ones of desire. The heat was building between them, just as the want was pooling in her stomach. Their touches turned more frantic, as did their kisses.

Clarke arched into him and his grip tightened on her waist. Her moan got trapped between their lips.

In one swift movement, Bellamy spun them around so her back was against the vanity and grabbed her thighs, lifting her onto the cold counter top. Her legs wound around his hips, pulling their bodies flush together. She felt his moan from deep within her chest.

Clarke continued to lose herself to the heat pooling in her stomach. She wanted  _ more, more, more.  _ She doubted she’d ever be satisfied. 

Bellamy pressed open-mouthed kisses down her neck. She struggled to remain silent as he nipped and kissed the spots that made her gasp and shiver. She gripped the edge of the countertop tightly and bit her lip.

“Bellamy,” she hissed, her voice low and throaty. He ground her hips against hers and dragged his teeth along her skin in response. “We need— fuck— to be quiet.” She barely managed to get the full sentence out.

Her fingers hooked under the hem of his shirt. He mumbled something against her neck, only pulling away to allow the clothing item to be pulled over his head. She discarded it haphazardly behind the both of them and ran her hands along the plains of his chest.

The scars from the failed Diagon Alley mission were still slightly raised. He shivered as her fingers traced their familiar patterns. Her teeth nipped at his shoulder and she copied his ministrations on her.

“Fuck,” he breathed. His lips fell to the top of her head as she continued to kiss down his bare chest. “Clarke.” His hands flexed on her waist, holding her tightly against him. She wanted to be closer to him, she wanted to be  _ joined  _ with him. “I want you.”

“Want you,” she echoed. 

_ She really wanted him.  _ She was going crazy with want. 

His fingers tugged on the hem of her sleep shirt and tugged up. The material was abandoned onto the floor alongside his. His gaze danced along her body, soaking in her bare torso. Clarke doubted she’d ever get tired of him looking at her like this — especially when she was so certain she had lost him only days before.

When their lips connected again, it was a slower kiss than before, filled with warmth and passion over heat and desire. It made her toes curl and her stomach flip.

“I want to be with you,” Bellamy said, his voice breathless. His thumb swept along her cheek. She thought he was still talking about sex, and was thrown when he clarified. “I want us to be  _ together. _ Officially. I want us to be  _ us;  _ in a relationship, openly in love.” He pulled back to look at her eyes. “If you want that, of course.”

Merlin, help her. She wanted than more than anything in her life.

_ She wanted that, but she was still so scared.  _ She was scared of all the things that could go wrong, she was scared of all the possibilities she hadn’t imagined yet, she was scared of things changing.

“What if this happens again?” she asked, instantly overwhelmed with worry. “What if we both are too stubborn? What if—” 

“We will get through this and whatever lies ahead of us. I’m not going to pretend this didn’t hurt, but I am not willing to let that ruin something so beautiful. My love is not fragile, Clarke. I loved you through all of it, just as I’ll continue loving you.” He caressed her cheek. “I’m in love with you and I want to be with you. Not because we’re the only remaining options, not because this is something to pass the time, and not whatever stupid than I implied.  _ I pick you. I choose you. I love you. _ Out of all the people in the world,  _ I want you and you alone  _ — for as long as you’ll want me.”

Clarke could barely speak. Her heart was pounding and her stomach flipping nervously. She pressed an urgent kiss to his lips.

“I want that, too,” she promised him. “I want us to be together.  _ I am in love with you, Bellamy.” _

His smile was wide and genuine. Her cheeks hurt from beaming up at him.

_ This,  _ she decided,  _ was bliss. _

_ This was her home. _

Their lips crashed together again, their movements still slow and heavy. His hands dragged up the bare sides of her body, raising goosebumps in its wake. His mouth moved along the curves of her breast at a tantalizing pace. Her head fell back and she struggled to remember how to breathe.

Clarke was impatient to make up for last time though. She pressed her heel into the back of his thigh and he let out a breathy chuckle. He placed one last kiss to the top of her breast before moving to claim her lips again.

“Did you—”  _ Shit,  _ it was harder to speak than she realized. She blinked rapidly to try and focus her mind. “Did you lock the door?”

“Mhmm.”

That was all she needed to hear from him. She pressed a firm kiss to his parted lips and dropped her hands to work at undoing his Muggle belt. She cursed the creators of buckles as she struggled.

Bellamy broke the kiss to laugh. She pouted in return.

He reached down to undo the ties for her pants and had the audacity to look smug at the simplicity of it. He tugged on the waistline of them and she lifted her body up to allow him to pull them all the way off.

Except.

That didn’t happen.

In the heat of the moment, Clarke forgot where she was seated. When she leaned over to help Bellamy remove her shorts, her hand fell into the sink filled with water. She wasn’t expecting the dip and toppled over. A plant on the corner of the vanity toppled off, smashing on the ground. The wide array of toothbrushes clattered to the floor. The faucet stabbed her in the ribs.

_ It was a fucking nightmare. _

Within three seconds, the bathroom was destroyed and the mood was  _ most definitely  _ ruined.

Clarke was laying on the now empty vanity, wet from the overflowing sink and very,  _ very  _ confused. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. She gave him a thumbs up.

Bellamy tried to stifle his laugh by biting on his lip, but it was a losing battle. Their eyes met and they both descended into hysterics.

Clarke tried to keep her laughing as silent as possible, which ended up being a good decision for once. Moments after the destruction of the bathroom, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Clarke bit down on her fist and Bellamy tried to hide his laughs. 

“What?” He looked down at her again. His body shook with silent laughter.

“Diyoza sent me to make sure you’re still alive,” Murphy said from the other side of the door. He sounded exhausted.

“Yup. Still alive. Thank you.”

Murphy’s head thudded against the wall. “What was that sound? Was there a miniature explosion? She thinks you destroyed her bathroom.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong.

“Just dropped a few things.” Bellamy reached for Clarke and helped her back into a sitting position. She arched into his touches. His eyes darkened with desire. “I’m good. Bye.”

Clarke wanted to shout for Murphy to get lost, but she didn’t want to deal with him if he heard her in the bathroom with Bellamy. It wasn’t like he’d be mean if he found out; just annoying.

Murphy was silent for a long moment before asking the next question. “I thought you just needed to wash your hands?”

”I did. But... I had syrup other places too.”

Murphy was silent. Then, he let out a crude laugh. “What, like your dick?” Clarke had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re pretty loud in there for a guy trying to wash his hands.”

”Can you go away? Please? I’m kind of busy.” Bellamy moved forward and pressed a quick kiss to Clarke’s lips. Her expression softened.

“Right, right. Busy washing your hands.” Murphy snorted. “Got it.” Bellamy pressed a kiss to Clarke’s neck again, bringing back the fire that was burning through her veins only moments before. “Oh, by the way,” Murphy cut in. Clarke swore. She thought he had left. “You might want to hit pause on…  _ this. _ Diyoza has a thing against sex in communal places.”

”I’m not having sex,” Bellamy snapped. Clarke almost laughed at the irony of it all. They were most definetly trying to have sex. “I’m alone. Trying to wash my hands. In privacy. And knocked something over. That’s all. Goodbye.”

Murphy laughed again. “Right, got it, got it.” He was silent for a long moment, and then— “Hi, Clarke.” Their eyes widened. “I’ll see you two later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no comment
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.
> 
> Paw  
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	30. Chapter 29: Rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello from your local LIAR. I am wearing my LIAR shoes right now. because i wanted to get this done LAST YEAR (hehe 'last year' jokes) and I didn't. Send your thanks and complaints to Star Wars. That movie ended up.
> 
> ANYWHO, welcome back. We last left our favourite delinquents living at Diyoza's. Bellamy and Clarke and back together and in luuuuuuuuuuv. 
> 
> I'm not giving warnings for this chapter. You read the tags. You know what's up.
> 
> Enjoy.

**_CLARKE_ **

_ January 19, 1998 _

* * *

“So,” Murphy started, trying and failing to hide the smirk on his face. “I see you made up with Blake. Or, should I say, heard.”

Clarke glanced over the edge of her book and rolled her eyes. Murphy stood at the entrance to the room under the staircase, a smug smile on his lips. 

“Are Bellamy and Raven arguing about it?” She frowned. “I hoped that wouldn’t happen.”

While she told Murphy about her relationship with Bellamy, he hadn’t told Raven. She was surprised at this, considering how close they were, but didn’t question him.

“No.” Murphy fell to the bay window beside her, his legs swinging up to rest against her own. “I heard you destroy the bathroom earlier. Bellamy and Raven are fine. I think. I haven’t heard anyone being murdered, so.”

“I appreciate how your definition of fine is the lack of murder.” Clarke adjusted her body to make more room for Murphy. It was squishy with both of them laying in opposite directions on the window, and his toes were cold against her elbow. She batted his feet away. “Please, for the love of Merlin, find a pair of socks and  _ wear them.  _ It’s winter out.” He pressed his toes to her side and she scowled. “You’re a fucking gargoyle.” 

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Clarke rolled her eyes and tried to turn back to her book. Murphy poked her again with the ice cubes he called toes. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“I know Diyoza said no punching, but I will swing.”

“Pay attention to me. Pay attention to me. Pay attention—” 

“Are you five years old? Is that it?” Clarke tried to keep her words stern, but she couldn’t help but laugh. Murphy begging for her attention was a sight she never thought she’d witness. “Poor Murphy. Bored?” Clarke tossed her book to the side and turned her complete attention to him. “Why are you torturing me?”

“Because it’s  _ fun.”  _ For good measure, he poked her again with his foot. “And because I want to talk to you.” She cocked an eyebrow. “I was serious about what I said earlier.”

“What did you say earlier?”

“Outside the bathroom.” He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t try and pretend you weren’t actually there, because I freaking know you and Bellamy were having another one of your emotional conversations.” His lips twitched. “Minus the conversing, add in more emotions. Or… hormones?”

Clarke pressed her toes to his side. He didn’t flinch.

“I don’t remember what you said. I was a little preoccupied.” Murphy pulled a face. “I fell in the sink, if you must know. Merlin.”

“Spare me the details. I told you two that Diyoza is not one for sex in communal places. She’s also weird about having sex in the house when she’s around, I don’t know.” He waved off the details. “It’s one of her few requests.”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow. “And you know this because...?”

“Because I know shit, Griffin.” He tried to remain nonchalant, but Clarke knew him well enough to see through it. She smirked, but didn’t push further. He never pushed her to talk about Bellamy when he suspected something was going on between them. “I’m just letting you know before you two have to sit through her hour-long speech about being safe and not doing in on the kitchen table. I promise, I’m sparing you.” He grimaced. “Also, please, for me, don’t do it beside the sink. That’s where I brush my teeth. Animals.” 

“Noted.”

Murphy’s smirk softened. “So, you and Blake? You two are good?”

“Yeah.” Her chest warmed. “I think so.”

.

“So,” Raven started, “you and Blake?”

Clarke had walked into their bedroom less than one minute prior, her hair still wet from the shower. Raven sat on the edge of her own bed, as if she had been waiting for her.

“He told you?” she asked.

“He did.” She smiled. “He told me what I think is everything; how you two really got along while on the run together, how things fell apart when tough choices had to be made, how he’s  _ really deeply in love with you.”  _ Clarke couldn’t hide her smile at that.

“I’m in love with him too.” She felt giddy admitting those words out loud. She wasn’t sure if the charm of it all would ever wear off.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. It was right in front of me. I mean, even back at Kane’s, you two were growing really close and I thought something was going to happen. I just thought, with you two avoiding each other once you got back, something bad must’ve happened on the run. Which I would’ve got. Being alone with someone for weeks at a time is bull shit. I would know. I had to live in this house with Murphy for  _ weeks  _ without Diyoza.” 

“You’re not mad?” Clarke asked. 

“At first, I was a little upset he didn’t tell me earlier, but I understand. Somethings… somethings are so private that it’s hard to talk about with others. He told me that he didn’t tell me sooner because he wanted to keep his thoughts clear -- he didn’t want my opinions to impact his, and I get that.”

Clarke flopped backwards onto her bed and stared up at the single crack in the ceiling. “That’s so not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You just… reason yourself not be upset.” Clarke’s lips twitched. “Meanwhile, I’ve been the complete opposite recently. I like to pride myself on thinking logically, so this kind of sucks.”

“Emotions aren’t the polar opposite to logic,” Raven said. “You can feel hurt and be emotional, but still be brilliant and think things through logically. Sometimes we let emotion get the better of us, but those two things don’t contradict each other.”

“What about the other night?” Clarke pressed. “When I asked you about Bellamy and then got annoyed with you talking about him? I’m a wreck.”

The other girl laughed. “I guess that makes sense now. I was so confused why you sounded jealous of me talking about him. I couldn’t figure it out.”

Clarke wanted the darkness to swallow her whole. She brought her hands to her face and groaned. “Merlin, that’s so embarrassing. I was jealous of you and Bellamy’s friendship.” She glanced at Raven. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be all… you know.”

“I think this whole house just needs a fresh start,” Raven declared. “As for us, I think we’re good. I’m over it, as long as you promise me you won’t be that girlfriend that gets jealous every time Bellamy wants to spend time with me. Godric only knows how many girls interested in him did that.”

“No. Merlin, no. You two are close friends and I respect that. If there ever comes a day where I do that, please, send me to the Dementors.” Raven laughed. “I mean it. I lived in a controlling household me entire life, and I  _ never  _ want to perpetuate that; not with Bellamy, not with friends, not with my own children. He can talk to whoever he wants, including you. I just think… with everything going on, I got jealous. I wanted to be comforting him and close to him, and I couldn’t, but you were. I got jealous of your closeness, but I never wanted you two  _ not  _ to be close. I just wanted to be there alongside you.” Clarke rubbed her forehead. “I don’t even know if that makes sense. But never in a million years would I want you two to stop being friends, and I would never want to get jealous over that friendship. What you two have is special.”

“So, this isn’t going to be a reoccuring thing? It was just a product of the circumstances?”

“Getting jealous about his friendship with you is controlling and manipulative and gross. I don’t want to be that person.”

“Okay. That’s good.” Raven sat up. “We’re good then.”

Clarke felt her chest warm.

* * *

_ January 20, 1998 _

Clarke was surprised at how easy they managed to slip back into a routine. 

The next morning, when she was reading the Muggle newspaper, Bellamy came up behind her and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. Her heart warmed with fondness at the simple act.

“Good morning,” he greeted, resting his chin on her shoulder. She reached up to brush her hand through the side of his hair.

“Good morning.” He leaned forward to snatch a piece of toast off her plate and gave her a cheeky grin. “Oh, I see, you placate me with kisses and steal my food.”

“Caught me.” He pressed another quick kiss to her cheek and slid into the chair next to her. The boyish grin he wore made her smile soften.

Yes. She loved him. Even if he stole her food.

“Do you have any plans for the day?” he asked between bites of her food.

She laughed. “No, not at all.”

It was funny, considering they were both trapped in a small house with three other people, unable to leave or take a step outside. He knew very well that she wasn’t busy today, nor would she be for the next few months.

“Cool. You want to hang out?”

She laughed again. It was sweet that he didn’t just assume they’d be spending the day together.

“I don’t know,” she teased. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m sure we can think of something to keep us entertained.” Clarke’s eyes darted to Diyoza’s across the table, but she seemed to be ignoring them in favour of the newspaper. Bellamy must’ve realized what he was implying, and amended his statement. “We did survive with absolutely nothing to do while we were on the run. We could try to beat our record on the balancing game?”

“Oh, Merlin,” she giggled. “I can’t even remember what you got up to.”

“You were at two minutes, I was a little past five.” He pushed up from the table to make himself breakfast, but stopped to press a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. He was being overly affectionate, but it was the exact thing she needed to soothe the ache between them over the last few weeks. “You have a cute nose.”

“Apparently one that isn’t good for balancing things on.” He grinned so wide and it made her heart flutter. She was overwhelmed with the ferocity of her emotions in that moment.

“We can pick up our debate on potion brewing; is it more efficient to crush beetles or cut them? Or, if you prefer, the debate on Muggle electricity versus magic.”

Clarke smiled at the fond memories. 

“Actually,” she said, “you promised to tell me about that one guy in the spandex and cape.” When Bellamy didn’t immediately interject with the name of the character, she continued describing it. “It’s that Muggle character. Lois? We were going to—”

“Superman!” Bellamy turned to her, his excitement clear. “That’s right. I never told you about Superman.” He pushed the bread into the toaster. “Alright, it’s settled. You’re getting your Muggle education today. Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman. You’re going to love it.”

His excitement was evident. He reminded her of a boy at a candy store, and it made  _ her  _ grow more excited. Listening to him talk about something he was passionate about was one of her favourite ways to pass the time.

Clarke turned back to her plate to finish her food. As she took the last bite of her toast, she caught Diyoza’s eye.

She lifted her eyebrow.

It suddenly dawned on Clarke just how much Diyoza missed.

Just as she was about to launch into an explanation, she smirked and turned back to the newspaper. “I fucking knew it.”

* * *

_ January 24, 1998 _

“I don’t think I’ll ever get it,” Clarke complained, her voice smothered by the palms of her hands.

She couldn’t remember another time where she failed so frequently. She actually lost track on the number of times she failed over the last two days.

When Clarke reached the section on Patronus Charms in Kane’s textbook, she went to find Raven. Bellamy tried to teach her the charm in the woods when they were on the run, and she failed  _ over and over.  _ She was desperate to learn it, no matter what.

She knew it was a complicated charm, so much so that wasn’t even taught to Hogwarts students. She also knew that a witch or wizard wouldn’t be able to cast the charm if their soul was damaged, if they were distracted, or if they were experiencing emotional turmoil.

That fact alone made her worried. She’d done things in her life — dark things — and she couldn’t keep the doubt from creeping up on her.

_ What if her soul was damaged? What if she couldn’t perform the Patronus Charm because of her past?  _

“You can do it,” Raven encouraged her. 

“I think I’m broken.” Clarke flopped back onto Raven’s bed, feeling utterly defeated. “We’ve been at it for hours, and I can’t even make a mist. I can’t do it.”

“You’re not broken,” she insisted. “It’s really complicated magic, Clarke. You not being able to perform it doesn’t make you broken, or weak, or incapable. You’re brilliant, and you—”

“I’ve killed someone.” Raven fell silent. Clarke glanced in her direction and desperately tried to gauge her reaction. “Murder damages the soul, and I’ve murdered someone before. I… I think I’m broken.”

The tense silence that followed felt suffocating.

It was difficult to read Raven’s expression. Clarke’s heart was pounding in her chest and she felt sick. She didn’t want to be judged; she didn’t want their budding friendship to wilt; she didn’t want Raven to think of her differently.

“I don’t know why I said that,” Clarke said when the silence became too much. Her stomach flipped nervously. Why did she admit something so horrible to Raven? Why did she—

“You’re not broken.” Raven’s voice still held the same certainty that it did before. Clarke’s eyes snapped to hers and she let out a tight breath. “You did it to survive?” She nodded. “You. Are.  _ Not.  _ Broken. We all have done things to survive.  _ I’ve  _ done horrible things to survive. We’re in a war. Someone once told me that first, we survive, and then we get our humanity back.”

There was something about the confidence in her words that made Clarke choke up. Maybe it was because Raven was so sure of her answer, even without knowing the full picture. Maybe it was because killing the Death Eater was still weighing heavily on her, even though she knew she had to do it to protect both herself and Bellamy. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Her eyes burned from unshed tears. “Did Kane tell you that? That sounds like a Kane thing.”

“It was a Kane thing.” She reached forward and held Clarke’s hand. “Your soul isn’t damaged, Clarke. I know you, and I know you wouldn’t have done something like that out of hate, and  _ hate  _ is what leads to your soul fracturing. You… You’re filled with love, and fire, and strength. You’re not broken.”

Clarke wanted to say something. She wanted to tell her that she was wrong. She wanted to tell her about how she used the killing curse on Jugson, and the only way for the killing curse to work was when there was enough hate in the soul. 

“Let’s take a break,” Raven suggested, breaking Clarke from her thoughts. “You didn’t finish  _ Titanic,  _ did you?”

“If I recall correctly, someone spoiled the ending for me.”

Raven gasped dramatically. “What person would do such a horrible thing?” Clarke managed a smile, even though it wasn’t a genuine one. Raven squeezed her hand. “Your soul is not broken, Clarke, no matter what textbooks say.”

* * *

_ January 27, 1998 _

“I think we need to have a little chat.”

Diyoza stood in the threshold of the little alcove under the stairs. Clarke and Bellamy were pressed together on the bay window, her back flush against his chest, a book settled in her lap. It reminded her of how they spent their days on the run; tangled with each other, reading the same book together, breathing together.

_ Together, together, together. _

Clarke slipped her finger into the book to mark the page they were on before pulling away from Bellamy’s arms. They swung their legs over the edge of the seat, neither of them moving too far away from each other.

Diyoza shifted back and forth on her feet. Her gaze was sharp.

“You two are both adults, so I’m going to keep this short.”  _ Oh, fuck.  _ Clarke understood why Diyoza looked so pained when she realized what was coming next.

“Diyoza—”

She held up her hand. “Let me talk.” Clarke fell silent. “You’re both adults. You guys are free to do whatever the hell you want, alright? I don’t need to know — actually, I don’t  _ want  _ to know.  _ Really. I don’t want to know. At all.  _ All I ask is that you follow a few rules.” Realizing she was waiting for a response, Clarke nodded. “Please just… don’t have sex in the kitchen. Or the laundry room. Or the bathroom. Really, anywhere communal. That’s rule one.

“Rule two; don’t have sex when I’m home. I swear, if I have to hear anymore—” She blew out a long breath. “Not important.  _ I don’t wanna be here.  _ Two rules. That’s it. Anything else — go wild.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Got it?”

“Yup.”

“You bet.”

“Good. Good.” Diyoza took a step backwards, but still hovered. “And… Fuck. I’m kind of in charge of keeping you two safe, so I… Were you safe?”

Clarke was tempted to die. Thank Merlin, she never had to talk about sex with her mother, but this felt like a close second. More accurately, this felt like discussing her sex life with Professor McGonagall.

“We— Well— I—”

Diyoza cut Bellamy off. “No details needed, Blake. Just— Do I have to teach you the contraceptive charm? Or is Hogwarts at least still teaching you guys that.”

“Nope. We got that covered.”

Diyoza nodded and grew pensive. “Good. Good. Great.” Before she turned away, she snorted and locked eyes with Clarke. “Salazar, I know I said no details, but I feel sorry for you, Griffin. I hope they changed who was in charge of teaching the contraceptive charm because we all had to learn it from the Heads of House.” She laughed. “I thought Slughorn was bad? I would’ve died with Snape.”

Clarke burst out laughing at that thought. The idea of Snape being forced to teach a bunch of hormonal teenagers about wizarding contraception was too fucking good.

“I’ll be thanking Merling for Madam Pomfrey then.”

Before leaving, she reminded them. “Two rules!”

Clarke turned to Bellamy, a grin growing on her face. “Two rules,” she told him. It was hard to keep a straight face.

Bellamy smirked. “Two rules.”

* * *

_ January 28, 1998 _

After struggling with the Patronus Charm for so long, Clarke doubted there would ever come a day where she’d be in stitches while practicing it.

Her, Raven, Bellamy, and Murphy were spread out across the living room, wands in their hands and three textbooks on the coffee table. Kane’s textbook was the most worn, but the other two looked well loved, both of them having been Diyoza’s.

“Alright, alright,” Bellamy said, flipping a few pages over. He twirled his wand in his fingers and Clarke watched with rapt attention. Maybe it was because the relationship was so new, but she felt herself drawn to him more and more. “It says here that you need to think of your happiest memory for it to work.”

“We know,” Murphy snapped. He let his head fall to the back of the couch. “You’ve said as much. It’s just not working.”

“What about the wand movement?” Raven prompted. “Maybe you’re not moving your wand right?”

Murphy shot her a withering look. “Right, Reyes, I’m just an idiodic first year who doesn’t know how to hold their wand properly.  _ Of course I’m fucking holding it right.” _

“Let’s calm down,” Bellamy suggested. He pointed to the textbook. “I’ll read the paragraph out loud again, okay? Maybe—”

“Bell, you’ve read it plenty of times.” 

Clarke was trying her best to stay positive, but it was hard. Both her and Murphy were struggling to gain any momentum on producing the Patronus Charm, while both Bellamy and Raven had been performing it for years. The four of them had been practicing for hours together, and she was quickly losing hope again.

“Just do it again.” Murphy sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Walk us through the steps. Slowly. And then we’ll get it.”

Bellamy leaned into Clarke’s side as Raven launched into an explanation. It was one she heard many times before; think of a happy memory, tap into as much joy as possible, speak clearly, wave your wand, envision the happiness radiating out the tip of her wand and out into the world.

_ Yes,  _ she wanted to snap,  _ I know. I can’t do it. _

Bellamy’s fingers interlocked with hers and she leaned into his side.

After explaining the basic movements, Raven spoke the incantation, and a misty blue animal burst from the tip of her wand. As soon as the ghost-like owl manifested, a wave of warmth and comfort hit Clarke and it helped push away her worries.

Just like when Bellamy performed the charm for her, it felt like she was showered with sunlight and goodness with the Patronus in the air. She could see how this could shield against the cold of a Dementor.

“My Patronus not being a raven is a missed opportunity,” Raven said, her expression filled with a spark. She let it circle the room once more before it disappeared.

“It’s difficult magic,” Bellamy said again. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Murphy.”

“I’m kind of sick of people telling me how difficult it is.” He locked his jaw and shifted forward. Bellamy didn’t move to meet his challenging gaze. “You two can perform the spell, so it isn’t impossible. Are you implying that I’m less of a wizard than you? That I’m less skilled, less capable?”

“No,” Bellamy said, his voice harder than before. “I’m trying to reassure you. You  _ aren’t  _ any less capable for struggling to perform this spell. It took us weeks and weeks to learn it in the D.A.”

“I’ve been trying for weeks,” Clarke complained. “I haven’t even been able to produce a mist. At least you had a whisp last attempt, Murphy.”

After trying a few more times, Murphy snapped with frustration.

“This sucks.” He glared at Bellamy. “Maybe I’ve just lived a horribly sad life and I don’t have a strong happy memory like you said. We’ve all lived through a war, right, maybe that’s just fucked with me too much.”

Clarke hated to admit it, but he voiced her exact concerns. Did she not have a happy enough memory? Was her soul damaged from everything she did to survive? Why was she struggling so much?

“I don’t think happiness can be measured qualitatively,” Raven determined. “Someone might think my happiest memory isn’t as strong as theirs is, and that’s because we all have different perspectives. For example, my happiest memory might be winning a Quidditch match. For someone who’s experienced the birth of a child, they might look at  _ my  _ happy memory and laugh. We’ve all lived different lives.”

“Right,” Bellamy agreed quickly. “And just because we haven’t experienced something people claim to be the happiest days of their lives — like getting married or holding your child for the first time — doesn’t mean we don’t have other happy memories. Happiness is relative. Whatever you think your happiest memory is will be strong enough.”

Maybe that was what she was struggling with. Every time she tried to perform the spell, she switched her memory around. Nothing stuck out to her as the happiest moment of her life. She looked back at shopping with her mother at Diagon Alley with fondness, but she decided those memories were too tinged with sadness and mourning of the past. She thought of hanging out with her friends when she was a child, but it was the same issue there.

Her life had changed so dramatically over the last few years, it was hard to look back at her life without missing it. She wouldn’t change how her life was now — not for anything — but it was easy to miss her mother before she knew her dark secrets, and it was easy to miss her friends before they became Death Eaters.

“What’s your memory?” Clarke asked Bellamy.

She found it extremely adorable and intriguing the way his cheeks flushed and his expression grew sheepish. He almost looked  _ shy,  _ and it made her want to kiss him dizzy.

“You’re going to laugh,” he warned her.

“You could admit to  _ anything,  _ and she’d still find you cute,” Murphy commented, his voice dry. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, if anything,  _ we’re _ going to be the ones that laugh,” Raven teased. “She loves you so much, it’s sickening.”

“Mmmm.” Bellamy swooped down and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. It left her body buzzing. “Good thing I love her just as much.”

Murphy tossed a pillow at them. “That’s right. Sickening. It’s unnatural.”

“Fuck off,” Clarke laughed. She nudged Bellamy’s side. “Your memory?”

“It’s of us.” Raven let out an ‘awe.’ Clarke tossed the closest pillow in her direction. Despite the light teasing, Bellamy didn’t look embarrassed or bashful. In fact, he looked at her with so much tenderness and love that it made her throat tighten. “It’s when we were on the run, at night.”

“Please, spare us the details,” Murphy pleaded. “I don’t want a live-action remake of the  _ Titanic.” _

Bellamy looked confused, but she struggled to keep herself from laughing.

“He’s talking about the horribly awkward car sex,” Clarke explained. He still looked confused. “In  _ Titanic.  _ The sex scene.”

“What?” Bellamy frowned. “I thought it was sweet.”

“I mean, it was sweet, but watching it with Murphy? Without  _ any  _ warning or explanation? Not great.”

“They thought Rose and Jack were full of fucking for the cameras,” Raven added.

It took several minutes for the four of them to regain their composers. Knowing what she did now, the whole situation was ridiculous and hilarious. Clarke couldn’t help but openly watch Bellamy laugh.

_ Fuck, he was cute.  _ He threw his entire being into every laugh and every smile. She was in love with everything about his laugh; from the way his hands curled into fists, to the way his dimples would form, to the way his eyes would dance with mirth. 

She didn’t know how she managed to get so lucky with him. He was gorgeous, and golden-hearted, and brilliant. It was moments like these that reminded her how  _ good  _ everything was.

Bellamy’s laughs died down while Murphy and Raven continued to laugh and joke together. She moved forward and pressed a swift kiss to his cheek.

“Is it the first snowfall? Your memory?”

She could see the minute shifts in Bellamy’s expressions and a different warmth filled her body. She had to admit, the memory of that day was one that made her stomach fill with bubbles. That was the day the two of them danced in the snow together, and caught the flakes in the palms of their hands, and fell against the trunks of trees, and pressed flush against each other under the sheets.

“No, but that’s up there for top memories.”

Clarke’s hold on him turned more needy. The sudden urge to climb onto his lap and kiss him senseless hit her hard. Just thinking back to their first time made her stomach flip and her mouth run dry, and that quickly led to thoughts about their interrupted reunion in the bathroom a week ago.

Living in a house with so many other witches and wizards sucked. 

She almost missed their shitty Muggle tent in the forest.

He must’ve sensed the shift in her. He leaned closer to her. “Are you okay?”

“Just thinking,” she said.

“About?”

“Things.”

“Things?”

Clarke laughed. “The first snowfall.” She watched his expression shift. She smirked. “That’s all.”

“Not fair, Griffin,” he breathed. A shiver went up her spine from his breath washing across her ear. “You know—”

It was at this exact moment that Diyoza entered the living room with a stack of textbooks in her arms. Raven immediately launched herself at the pile, clearly excited that their mentor managed to find a charms book. Bellamy gave her hand a quick squeeze before they both moved to meet Diyoza part way.

While she picked through the pile, she couldn’t shake the growing need to kiss Bellamy until their lips bruised.

.

She didn’t know if she should be thanking Merlin or Salazar, but her wish came true.

After dinner, when the three other occupants all retreated to different ends of the house, Clarke managed to convince him to follow her to the laundry room. And, by ‘convince,’ she meant she mentioned the emptiness of the room off-handedly and he eagerly agreed to meet her there.

She didn’t know what it was, but she couldn’t get enough of him lately.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She knew exactly why she couldn’t get enough of him; she  _ missed him.  _ A lot. Kissing him, touching him, moving with him — it was all so intimate; a perfect solution to the ache in her soul.

Their kisses started off innocent at first, but it didn’t last long. As soon as his body was pressed against hers, all bets were off.

They stumbled backwards a few steps, searching for something to lean into without breaking the kiss. Clarke let out a string of curses as her ribs connected with a clothing hook along the laundry room wall. 

He broke the kiss for a brief moment, his eyes soft with concern. “You okay?”

She flashed him a brief smile and rocked forward to capture his lips with her own again. That must’ve satisfied his need for an answer. Her hands ran up his chest, mapping out the curves of his muscles and broadness of his shoulders.

Their movements were eager, due in part to making out in a communal spot, but mostly because they’d been away from each other for what felt like so long. Sure, they stole moments here and there, but her need for him was so much greater.

His hands pushed under her shirt and she shivered when his hands brushed against her skin. His touch trailed up her body and she squirmed.

“Off. Clothing off,” she requested. She abandoned her ministrations and together they managed to pull off her shirt. His was quick to follow.

Standing chest to chest with Bellamy stole her breath. There was something so intimate that came with being so close to him, to being so vulnerable with him, and she craved more of it. She wanted him to push inside of her, she craved them to lock eyes with each other as they chased that high, she  _ needed  _ to be as close to him as possible.

His head dipped down to suck and bite along her neck. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she bit down on her lip to keep from moaning.

“I really — fuck.” Clarke arched her back into his chest as his teeth grazed along her pulse point. “I really fucking want you, Bellamy.” Her chest heaved with every breath.

“You want me?” he echoed, his voice teasing. She couldn’t help but grin.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know.”

“Hm.” His mouth travelled lower. Her legs nearly gave out when he pressed open-mouth kisses to the tops of her breasts. “I really fucking want you too, Clarke.” His voice was breathy against her skin. She squirmed from how wrecked he already sounded.

She tugged on his curls and their mouths connected for a desperate kiss. His hands moved to her back and worked on undoing the clasp of her bra. Her teeth grazed against his bottom lip and his hips pushed against hers.

“Too much clothing,” she decided. Her fingers pulled at the button of his Muggle pants, taking a brief moment to thank Merlin he wasn’t wearing an annoying Muggle belt today. She pushed his pants to the floor and he stepped out of them.

“We’re breaking the rules,” Clarke said, her voice low. The thought thrilled her.

“I know I should feel bad.” Bellamy pressed his length against her. Her breath caught in her throat. “But I really don’t care right now.”

“Rules are for losers,” she agreed.

Her hand palmed him through the fabric of his boxers and he let out a low moan. Watching his expression shift with pleasure made more heat pool in her stomach. One of the most beautiful sights in the world was seeing him overcome with bliss.

His eyes fluttered shut and his forehead came to rest on hers. It was a tender move — one that made her heart swell. She doubted there was anyone else in the world that could make her feel this way; so soft with love, yet so turned on at the same time.

“Clarke,” he breathed. His hands tightened along her waist and jaw went slack.

They were still wearing too much clothing.  _ Too much, too much, too much.  _ Clarke paused her lazy movements to push off his remaining articles of clothing. As she moved to finish undoing her bra, Bellamy hooked his thumbs under the hem of her bottoms and pulled them down.

Being naked in front of Bellamy wasn’t a new experience, but it was different now that they weren’t racing to get under the blankets due to the cold. For the first time, they gazed at each other without the hindrance of a blanket.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathed, his fingers creasing her cheek gently. His eyes dropped to her body, a look of adoration on his face. The same feeling that she felt the first time they slept together hit her again.

_ She was so lucky to be so in love with him. _

Her lips hungrily pressed against his, the heat pooling deep in her stomach slowly becoming unbearable.

Her fingers trailed down the sides of his body, creasing him with as much softness she could muster. His hand remained buried at the back of her head, his fingers tangling with the blonde locks.

She pulled at his bottom lip with her teeth, eliciting a low moan from him. The sound of pleasure only spurred her on more — her nails dug into the skin at his hips, pulling him flush against her. She nearly forgot how to breathe when their bodies pressed against each other. They were so close, and the intimacy of it all made her want grow.

When they parted for air, her lips trailed down his jaw and neck. In one swift movement, his hands wrapped around the back of her thighs and lifted her up. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, her legs wound around his waist.

Their breathing was erratic. The thick air between them grew hot from their breaths. The idea of being so close they were sharing air managed to turn her on even more.

“Clarke,” he breathed. She could listen to him saying her name for the remainder of her life — especially when it was like this; throaty and low with pleasure. “We need—“ His words turned into a moan when her teeth grazed his jaw. “A wand.”

Magic was the last thing on her mind. She ground her hips, desperate for friction. Bellamy’s breathing hitched and his hands tightened on her thighs. Her moans melted into his shoulder.

“Please,” she asked, even though she knew she didn’t have to beg. He wanted this as much as she did, and openly told her so. “I want you inside me.”

“Fuck.” 

Bellamy placed her on the top of the washing machine and dipped his fingers towards her inner thighs. She spread her legs wider for him and threw her head back in bliss.

_ FInally,  _ after a tantalizing pace, his fingers connected with her growing heat. Despite the time spent apart from each other, he remembered the way to crook his fingers to make her legs shake.

As his hand moved against her, his mouth pressed against hers, seemingly swallowing her moans. She could barely think past the tightening of her core, and the pulsing heat between her legs, and the way his fingers managed to press in all the right places. 

“Bell—“ She gasped into his mouth. “Bellamy. Bellamy.  _ Bellamy.” _

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groaned. He continued to whisper sweet nothings into her ear as he worked her closer and closer to the edge.

“Bellamy.” She tugged at his hair. “More. More,  _ please.”  _ She struggled to form proper sentences. “You. I want you.”

“Fuck, I want you too, Clarke.” His forehead pressed against hers. Their laboured breaths met in the small space between them. “I—“

Bellamy grew stiff against her, and her mind instantly cleared. She pulled away from him slightly to study his expression, but he didn’t move.

“Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Her heart was hammering in her chest for a completely different reason than before. She couldn’t see anything physically wrong with him, nor did she hear anything that would’ve made him grow so tense so quickly. “Bellamy?” She pressed her hand against his chest. “Are you okay?”

Their eyes locked and his expression softened.

She was still confused, but responded to the kiss he pressed to her. When he pulled away, he didn’t go far; he kept his forehead against hers. 

“I don’t have my wand,” he admitted.

Clarke was confused for a long moment because  _ why the fuck would he be thinking of his wand when his fingers were literally inside of her?  _ And, why would he be so concerned about it, because—

Oh.

“Shit.” Clarke straightened. His hand dropped from between her legs.

_ The contraceptive charm. _

While sex ed at Hogwarts was basically non-existent, she did know this much; the contraceptive charm was more than a good idea.

“I don’t have my wand either.” Clarke huffed and leaned away from him. “Great.”

No wand, no contraceptive charm, no sex.

“It’s fine; I’ll just go grab mine.” Bellamy took a step away from her, already moving to grab his discarded clothing. “It’s in my room.”

“With Murphy? He’ll know something’s up and — him being the gargoyle he is — would most definitely try screw with you.” Bellamy agreed with her assessment and suggested she grab her wand. “I left it in the kitchen after cooking. Isn’t Diyoza in there taking inventory?”

Fuck.

She pouted.

“This sucks.” While it might’ve sucked, they both agreed to wanting to do this properly. She knew without a doubt she wasn’t ready for any of the consequences of  _ not  _ using that charm — especially with a war raging outside of the safe house.

Bellamy pressed a quick kiss to her nose and she smiled. Whatever. It wasn’t a big deal. Sure, she was really turned on and desperatly wanted to fuck him, but she’d live.

Their lips met for a long, drawn out kiss that made her toes curl and head spin. He pulled away from her just enough to speak. 

“I can still help,” he breathed. His fingers brushed against her inner thigh and her throat tightened. “If that’s okay?”

“Please.” She inched closer to him, the heat quickly pooling in her again.

Their lips pressed together in a passionate kiss, muffling her moans.

* * *

_ January 31, 1998 _

Raven flopped onto the couch beside Murphy and kicked her legs onto his lap. Murphy glanced up from his book briefly, grinned at her, and returned to reading.

“I just finished arranging the mission with Diyoza,” Raven said. Clarke instantly perked up at this and paused their movie. Diyoza had been planning this mission for a while now, ever since she realized how depleted their food storages had become. “It’s set for next Sunday; February 7th.”

“That’s seven days away,” Murphy pointed out.

“We decided it would be best to push it back a few days — aim for a weekend. Not many people should be out then.”

“Good call,” Bellamy said. “What’s the plan? When are we leaving?”

“Well, actually, that’s what I need to talk to you about.” Raven glanced at Murphy. He gave a miniscule nod. “Diyoza and I decided all five of us going isn’t a good idea. The second safe house is pretty packed already. Five will be too many bodies.”

Clarke grew apprehensive. “Oh. Okay. Who’s going then?”

“Diyoza, Murphy and I will be doing the mission.” Raven looked sorry. “I hope you two don’t mind. I volunteered and Murphy jumped in, too.”

“I haven’t seen the sky in months. I’ve been breathing the same fucking air for  _ months.  _ I wasn’t about to let you two newbies leave before I did.” Murphy grinned at Clarke, showing his intent wasn’t malicious.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Raven repeated.

“No, that’s fine.” Clarke’s words were true. She was fine with not doing the mission, even if she originally wanted to.

“You’re sure you won’t need the extra wands?” Bellamy asked.

“We’re going from here, flooing to Diyoza’s second house, gathering supplies, then flooing back. It’s not a dangerous mission. We’ll be okay.” Bellamy relaxed at Raven’s reassurance.

“The three of us will be gone for a few hours on Sunday,” Murphy continued. He gave Clarke a pointed look. “You two will be alone. In the house. Without Diyoza. Without anything to do. For hours.”

What?

Clarke stared at Murphy for a long time, trying to figure out what point he was trying to make. He was staring at her so pointedly that it was obvious that he was trying to hint about  _ something,  _ but—

Oh.

Realization must’ve dawned on Clarke’s face. Murphy grinned.

Without Diyoza home, rule two went out the window.

Suddenly, Clarke wasn’t too sure about Murphy’s last statement. She already had plans to be doing something while the others were on the mission.

(Or, rather, someone.)

* * *

_ February 3, 1998 _

Clarke stood beside Bellamy over the sink, toothbrushes in hand.

A few days ago, one of her thoughts was fleeting. It was supposed to be fleeting, anyways.

_ But it stuck. _

It had circled back around her mind and, now, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

_ Children. _

_ Their children. _

Granted, in the context of the first time she thought about it, she was thinking about how she definitely did  _ not  _ want to have children right now. They were in the middle of a war; a war that they were caught in the middle of. She knew the horrors of war first hand — they all did in this house.

_ She didn’t want to bring a child into that. _

It was a world where a future was unknown. It was a world filled with hate, and violence, and horrors.  _ She didn’t want to be raising a child in all of that.  _ Life was complicated enough already, trying to figure out who she truly was outside of her family, trying to fight to survive, trying to make the world a better place.

_ But, that brought up the question. _

_ What if this war lasted forever? _

Realistically, she knew this war would end, one way or another, but that could be years away. Did she want to wait until the war was over to have a child? Did she want to wait until the world became calmer — steadier — before they started a family?

She didn’t know. She knew there was nothing wrong with having a child during a war; hell,  _ she  _ was born during a war. But she was scared; she was scared because she lost her father during the war and she never wanted to leave her child like that.

“You’re thinking,” Bellamy pointed out after he spat in the sink. He studied her reflection in the mirror. “What’s on your mind?”

She locked eyes with him through the mirror. “Honestly? The future.”

Without many words, he understood.

“The future,” he echoed. “How far ahead?”

“Far.”

“I see.” He leaned against the vanity and turned to her. “We both know thinking too far ahead in the future is daunting and terrifying.”

She laughed. “That’s pretty much were I am right now. Terrified and confused.”

Bellamy offered her a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay,” he promised her. “I’m pretty sure  _ everyone  _ is feeling the exact same right now. We’re at war. We don’t know what the future will hold. It’s hard to think about because there’s so many things that could happen.”

A few beats passed before she spoke again.

“Do you want kids?”

His expression shifted to something softer. She marvelled at how much adoration his expression held, and she immediately knew his answer.

“Kids?”

“I mean… I know we’re young, and I don’t know what we’ll be doing after the war, and I don’t know if you’ll even want to be together after the war, but… I was just thinking. In the future, did you want kids?”

She could see him as a father. He always spoke about raising his sister and loving her with everything in him. He had so much love, passion, and care in his soul, she knew he’d be brilliant with any children. That thought alone made her melt.

“One day,” he said. “What about you?”

It was a thrilling thought, to have a family one day.  _ To be a mom.  _ To be a better parent than hers were. To help raise someone to be strong, and loving, and kind, and brave. 

The answer was easy.

“One day,” she repeated.

They smiled.

And, for now, that was good enough for them.

She returned to brushing her teeth.

* * *

_ February 5, 1998 _

“Raven! Murphy!” Diyoza called to them from the kitchen. “Do either of you remember the password for this week?”

Clarke sat up from where she was laying on the couch. Bellamy had busied himself by playing what he called Muggle video games, which was entertaining to watch and passed the time easily.

She turned to him. “Password? Password for what?”

He glanced away from the television and shrugged. “Maybe for tomorrow?”

“She said ‘this week’ though.” That implied it was something recurring.

Seconds later, she heard footsteps racing down the stairs. “Shit!” Murphy cursed. “I forgot it’s today. Did we miss it?”

“Not quite. Raven! Password, guys, we need the password.”

Clarke pushed herself off the couch, not able to take not knowing any longer. She arrived in the kitchen the same time Raven did. The older witch didn’t spare her a single look; she ran into the kitchen, her wand drawn.

“Fawkes,” she told them. “The password is Fawkes. Hurry! It starts in less than a minute.”

Clarke hovered in the doorway and watched the chaos. Diyoza had an old radio set up in the middle of the kitchen table, her wand also drawn. Murphy and Raven sat at the table, both looking anxious and excited.

“What’s going on?” she prompted. She didn’t think they were at danger; if they were, the three of them wouldn’t have been shouting about passwords. She still couldn’t figure out what was happening though.

“Potterwatch,” Murphy responded, as if that explained everything. “Every week—”

“Quiet!” Diyoza cut him off and pointed her wand at the radio. When the room fell silent again, she spoke. “Fawkes.”

The radio came to life. The dials turned at lightning speed. Clarke wouldn’t pretend to know much about Muggle radio, other than knowing it played music and used waves. Static blared. Voices cut in and out. The antena twirled around. And—

_ There. _

“Welcome back, folks! And when I say folks, I’m talking about witches and wizards alike that stand for basic decency and have morals. Sorry to my friends in silver masks and black robes, but you’re not invited.

“It’s your host, River, and we come bringing you a special broadcast. Please, pull up a chair, grab a snack, and put up some silencing charms because this is bound to be a good one.”

Bellamy walked up beside Clarke, his jaw slack and eyes wide. “That’s— That’s—”

“Lee Jordan,” Raven finished, her face flushed with excitement.

_ Lee Jordan.  _ She hadn’t thought that name in a long time. Lee was a Gryffindor a few years ahead of her at Hogwarts and provided commentary on the school Quidditch matches. She remembered him for having a bias against Slytherins and a good sense of humour.

As he continued opening remarks of the broadcast, Murphy provided an explanation. “This is Potterwatch. We’ve been listening for months. I’m surprised you two didn’t know about it.”

“I don’t— What is it?” Clarke crossed the room and pulled up a chair beside Murphy. “I don’t understand. Jordan’s on the radio? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“They give us the real news,” Raven said.  _ “The Daily Prophet _ and the Wizard Wireless Network don’t provide the truth in their publications. That’s the reason why I left  _ the Prophet _ ; I couldn’t take their blatant lies. They cover up the truth and help spread You-Know-Who’s message. It’s horrifying.” She blew out a long breath. “Potterwatch is different. It’s run by Order Members for the general wizarding public, and  _ it’s really good.” _

“They give everyone as many updates as they can,” Murphy added. “They name the deaths that  _ the Prophet  _ won’t mention. They bring on other, well known Order Members to speak. They give updates on Death Eater activity and You-Know-Who. They try to encourage the fight against them.”

“That’s why we need a password,” Diyoza said. “Only those with a password will get access to the broadcast. It’s smart.”

“I wish we had this while on the run,” Bellamy commented. Clarke couldn’t agree more.

They fell silent for the remainder of the broadcast. Clarke had to admit, hearing updates from around the world — both Wizarding and Muggle — was nice. She felt so in the dark for so long. It was terrifying to hear of how many people died, of how many Muggle towns were being targeted, about how much chaos there was beyond the safe house, but it was necessary to know.

“The new wizarding order is affecting the Muggle world,” Jordan continued. “While Muggles remain ignorant of the source of their suffering, they continue to sustain heavy casualties.”

“However, we do hear some truly inspirational stories of wizards and witches risking their own safety to protect Muggle friends and neighbours.” This was a new voice, one that Clarke didn’t recognize. Bellamy seemed to though and let out a loud laugh.

“Kingsley,” he said. Clarke remembered that name from Kane’s; he ran the safe house Bellamy, Raven, Monty and Harper were set to go to if anything ever happened to Kane.

“Often, these acts are done without the Muggle's knowledge! I'd like to appeal to all our listeners to emulate their example, perhaps by casting a protective charm over any Muggles dwelling in your street. Many lives can be saved if such simple measures are taken!”

Jordan continued speaking. “And what would you say to those listeners who reply that in these dangerous times, it should be wizards first?”

“I'd say that it's one short step from wizards first, to purebloods first, and then to Death Eaters. We're all human, aren't we? Every human life is worth the same, and is worth saving.”

“Excellently put. Thank you, Royal, for your update. For all those who want Hogwarts—”

“—free of Death Eaters—”

“—and those who think Muggles should be protected—”

“—keep each other safe, keep faith, and help Harry Potter!” 

Clarke could hardly keep up as two other voices chimed in alongside Jordan’s. It didn’t take long for her to figure out who they were; after all, wherever Lee Jordan went, the Weasley twins weren’t far behind.

“We suggest that you continue to show your devotion to the man with the lightning scar by listening to…”

“Potterwatch!”

Jordan’s voice was the only one that remained. “Our next broadcast will be February 10th! Same time as always. Password will be Kane.” Clarke choked on the air in her throat at that. “Remember; be well, be kind, be safe.”

The radio went silent.

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Holy shit. Kane’s a legend!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the Potterwatch dialogue was mostly taken straight off of the Harry Potter Wiki, and it is a transcript from the Harry Potter books. I just love that dialogue so much, I had to include it! I also had to include Kingsley, Lee, Fred and George somehow. I love them too much not to.
> 
> Also, shout out to those of you who found all my fandom references last chapter. Frozen and Grey's Anatomy are the two that come to mind. what can i say, ur girl is trash for easter eggs.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! HAPPY NEW YEAR!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	31. Chapter 30: Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a little longer than I hoped, but that's mainly because it ended up being so long?? idk why?? Sorry!! This chapter is 11k words and is broken into three sections (as usual, the sections are indicated by dates). Hopefully the sectioning of the fic will make it easier to read!!
> 
> A quick note: this chapter jumps around in dates. It goes through ~1 month of time. Just keep that in mind while reading :)
> 
> A reminder that the warnings are in the tags of the fic AND that this fic is rated E. ... ... (hmm wonder what's happening this chapter)
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_ February 7, 1998 _

* * *

On the day of the mission, Murphy fell into the window seat beside Clarke. She decided that the best way to spend that morning was reading one of the simpler textbooks at Diyoza’s to keep her mind occupied.

It wasn’t like she was eager for mission day or anything.

No. Definitely not. There was absolutely no reason she needed to distract herself from Bellamy that morning.

None. At. All.

“My favourite Slytherin,” Murphy greeted, sliding up beside her.

“Morning.” She slid the book off her lap and stretched. “What’s up?”

“Just came to update you. We’ll be leaving in a half hour and won’t be back until after dinner. Diyoza is spending the day at the second safe house, and we won’t be able to come back without her.”

_ Oh. _

They’d have the house alone for longer than she originally realized.

She tried to hide her smile. “That’s nice.”

Murphy raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Sure is.”

Clarke laughed. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’”

“What’s with the face. You’re…  _ looking  _ at me.”

Murphy tried and failed to hide his smirk. “I think that’s what people do when they’re having a conversation. They look at each other. Right?”

“But you’re looking at me like  _ that.”  _ Clarke couldn’t help but smile in return. He looked smug, like he knew something she didn’t. “Why?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Griffin.”

“I’ll punch you.”

“I know you would.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in the seat. “I’m just thinking.”

“Unusual,” she commented dryly.

“Hey, I have thoughts. Occasionally.” They both grinned at each other. “These thoughts are just particularly entertaining.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I’m just thinking of how oblivious you and Blake are. Like, Salazar, you two are just… wow.” Clarke laughed. “I’m serious. Raven and I had to spell it out the other day for you two.  _ Please, for the love of Merlin, fuck already.” _

Clarke doubled over from laughter and kicked him in the shoulder. “Fuck off, Murphy.”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything. Except, you two  _ need  _ to just get it on already. It’s horrible to live with you both. You’re all so sweet and touchy and  _ in love.  _ Disgusting.” She knew he was teasing her. She rolled her eyes fondly. “I swear, you two have this ungodly amount of sexual tension. There’s enough of it to kill Baldo-mort.”

“Shut up!” She couldn’t stop laughing.

“I think I might be looking forward to this mission too much. Is that weird? I’m actually looking forward for you two to just hook up already and  _ chill out.  _ I miss not being scared to walk into the bathroom after you two.”

“I’ve never done anything in my life to damage a bathroom,” she swore. Her facade didn’t last long. She snorted when she thought of the first time they tried to have sex at Diyoza’s, and how it resulted in the death of one potted plant.

“All I can say is thank Salazar, thank Merlin. Hell, I’ll even thank Godric while I’m at it. It’s getting unbearable.”

“We’re not that bad,” Clarke complained. “For all it’s worth, I think we’ve been pretty good about… everything.”

“You’re right. I haven’t walked in on either of you on your knees—” Clarke kicked him. He couldn’t contain his laughter.

“You’re horrible,” she complained, not truly meaning it. “I  _ meant,  _ I think we’ve been pretty good, considering we were out there on our own for months. We did whatever we wanted,  _ whenever  _ we wanted,  _ wherever  _ we wanted. Transitioning to a house with rules and shit is strange.”

“Yeah, sorry to kill your sex life with good ol’ civilization and safety.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “You’re so right. Civilization and safety is  _ so  _ horrible. Not worth trading Bellamy’s giant—” Murphy kicked her and she snapped her mouth shut. She tried to hide her shit-eating grin behind her book. “Just kidding.”

“I’m sure you are.” He pushed himself off from the bench beside her and made his way to the hallway. “See you later.”

“Mhmm. Be safe.”

“You too.” He winked. She smirked.

Murphy left, leaving Clarke alone with her thoughts. She tried to return to her light reading, but it was almost impossible. She couldn’t stop chuckling to herself from Murphy’s complaints. Her and Bellamy had been pretty touchy and sweet with each other over the last few weeks, but she doubted it was as bad as Murphy was implying.

Besides, what she said was right. She was used to sleeping beside him and spending all day with him. Transitioning to Diyoza’s had been strange to begin with, but now that they were on speaking terms again, it was  _ extremely  _ weird.

It was twenty minutes later that she heard Diyoza call out to them, announcing their departure. Clarke heard the sounds of the floo network opening and shutting, signalling the beginning of their mission.

Clarke tried to continue reading the book, only so she wouldn’t seem as eager as she truly was when she sought out Bellamy. She knew he was eager to have the house to themselves, too, but she tried to remain nonchalant. She couldn’t explain why, but it felt more romantic and organic to her.

_ Except, yeah, she was really fucking eager. _

A few minutes passed before she couldn't take it anymore. She set down her book and went on her search for Bellamy.

It was eerie, how silent the house was. She was so used to them being crammed inside. There was always someone where she wanted to go, noises filled the house, people were moving everywhere. Now that it was just her and Bellamy, it was odd. It felt like the house was devoid of life, like it was filled with ghosts. It felt wrong.

She followed the sound of Muggle music. She recognized the tune playing on the radio from their time on the run; it was one of the most popular songs of the season. They playfully danced to it on more than one occasion.

She found Bellamy in the kitchen. Several bowls were scattered along the counter, all covered in some sort of Muggle ingredients. While she wasn’t as oblivious to cooking and baking as she once was, she still wasn’t too sure what he was doing.

Clarke leaned against the doorframe, watching Bellamy move around the kitchen. She remembered how awed she was when they were back at Kane’s. She never stepped foot in a kitchen before his house, never mind cooked a meal for herself.

Merlin, things were so different back then. She was barely on speaking terms with Bellamy. Their friendship — if she could even call it that — was fragile and new. When he offered to help her prepare the meal for the house with her that night, she remembered how excited and inexplicably  _ nervous  _ she was.

It was funny. That was already several months ago, yet it felt both more recent and distant at the same time. How was it possible that she could feel like Bellamy had been in her life for years, but still feel like everything was so new?

“Hey,” Bellamy greeted as soon as he spotted her. He lifted up a mixing bowl in her direction. “I started these a while ago, but Raven asked me to help her calibrate something upstairs. I wanted to be done before they left.”

Clarke bit her lip and smiled at him. Her heart ached with affection in that moment. Thinking back to their rocky past reminded her just how far they had come. From hating each other, to an understanding, to a hesitant friendship, to being partners and allies, to—

_ This. _

They were in love, and they were happy, and they were  _ together.  _ Despite all the struggles they had in the past, they were so lucky to be where they were. Despite the war raging just outside the safe house, they were able to live the lives they wanted here.

And, sure, maybe she was being sentimental, but it was hard not to feel this way. Here she was, standing in the threshold of the kitchen, watching Bellamy bake. It felt like an echo of her dream future. They’d be together —  _ living. _

That thought alone made her stomach curl with softness.

“I’m making banana and chocolate chip muffins,” Bellamy said, glancing at her over his shoulder. “That’s your favourite, right? From the ones Murphy made last week?”

“I love Murphy’s baking, but I have a feeling I’ll love  _ anything  _ of yours more,” she told him. “I think I’m biased.”

Clarke crossed the kitchen and jumped on top of the counter to watch him better. They locked eyes for a brief moment. Her heart skipped a beat.

“I just need to mix the dry ingredients,” he told her, pulling his gaze from her. “Then we can do whatever we want.”

Clarke tried to remain nonchalant, but she failed miserably. She was sick of waiting, sick of pining, sick of getting  _ so close but not close enough  _ to being with him. The last time they slept together, they were still on the run and in a tent.  _ That was over a month ago.  _

She was tempted to pull him by the front of his shirt and kiss him breathless — she was tempted to tell him that they could do whatever they wanted  _ right then, right now  _ — but she didn’t.

“Sounds good,” she replied evenly.

Bellamy continued to move around the kitchen. She watched him with rapt attention. She studied the way his expression shifted, and the way his movements were so graceful, and the way he was so meticulous with his measurements.

And, every time his eyes flicked up to meet hers, a warmth flooded her veins and made her heart race.

Merlin, she needed to pull it together. She was getting turned on just by him  _ looking at her.  _

Clarke crossed her legs and tried to look innocent. Bellamy merely lifted his eyebrows and turned back to the mixing bowl.

He looked good today. Although, he looked good every day. She wanted to run her fingers through his curls, and tug his grey shirt off his chest, and suck bruises along the column of his throat, and—

She clenched her jaw.

It’s fine. 

He was baking. 

She was fine.

Except, all she could imagine was pressing him to the counter and kissing him senseless. Or him trapping her where she sat, his hands grabbing at her shirt, and at her hips, and her legs wrapping around his waist, and—

_ Fuck. _

“Do you have your wand, by chance?” she questioned. She thought back to a few days ago and the laundry room incident — an incident she didn’t want repeated.

Bellamy glanced up from where he was measuring out the sugar into the bowl. Their eyes locked. Clarke thanked Merlin that they always seemed to run on the same frequency, and an understanding passed between them.

“I do.” He dumped the cup of sugar into the bowl and set the measuring cup aside. Clarke’s heart flipped. His eyes raked down her body —  _ slowly, deliciously.  _ She bit her lip. “Why?” he asked, his voice low. “You have something in mind?”

“I have something in mind  _ for sure,”  _ she promised him.

Bellamy raised his eyebrows in silent challenge. A smirk tugged at his lips — his perfect, tantalizing lips. “Like what?”

She couldn’t take it anymore. Pretending she didn’t want to jump him in the middle of the kitchen was ridiculous because—

_ Yeah, she really wanted to jump him in the middle of the kitchen. _

Clarke stretched along the counter, reaching out to cup the side of his face. His eyes snapped to hers, desire making his pupils wide. She guided him forward, her fingers curling into his hair. Their lips connected with a fire that she only felt when kissing Bellamy; it stole her breath, and made her heart race, and made her mind short-circuit.

He responded immediately, as if he had been waiting for her to make the first move. He reached for her hips and pulled her body towards him. She slid along the counter, breaking the kiss momentarily to let out a soft gasp.

_ Oh, fuck.  _ That was a turn on.

Bellamy stepped in-between Clarke’s knees, his fingers pressing firmly against her hips. Her body stirred at the contact and she shifted closer to the edge of the counter, desperate for more. Their chests pressed together. She could feel his racing heart and his shallow breaths.

The kiss was deep and filled with passion, and it made her toes curl with the intensity. Bellamy’s hands roamed her body, gripping her in all the right places. Her fingers wound into his curls like she wanted, eliciting a breathy sigh from him.

Clarke pulled away from his lips. He continued to press open mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, stealing all thoughts from her mind. Each brush of his lips sent a bolt of electricity through her.

What was supposed to be a cocky laugh came out breathless. “Are you… are you still interested in finishing your muffins?”

“Screw the muffins.”

Their lips were back on each other’s, more frantic than before. She nipped at his bottom lip and soothed it with her tongue, relishing the throaty sounds he made in response.

His hands pushed under her shirt. She arched into his touch, wanting more,  _ needing more. _ His hands left a trail of fire everywhere they touched. Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, pulling their cores flush together. Her breath hitched in her throat and the desperation — the  _ want  _ — for more grew.

“I think—” Her breathing hitched as he rolled his hips into hers. “I think we should go upstairs.”

“Mmm.” Bellamy pulled away from her long enough to make eye contact. His pupils were blown and his eyes dark with desire. His disheveled appearance made heat pool in her stomach. “Not in the mood to break rule number one today?”

“Not today. Maybe tomorrow,” she teased. Her hands trailed down his chest, feeling the familiar plains and curves of his muscles. She decided they were wearing too much clothing. “My room or yours?”

By the time they made their way to his room, Clarke was sure she was going to die from the warmth coursing in her and the want pooling in her stomach. Her whole body ached for him to push into her, to be with his, to move with him, to connect with him.

Their lips met as soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them. He gripped her hips and crowded her against the wall, the actions making her heart flip.

His shirt was the first to come off, quickly followed by hers. Her fingers mapped his chest expertly and he continued to press his lips to her jaw and lower. Her head connected with the wall she was pressed against when he sucked the spot on her neck that made her see stars.

“Ow,” she breathed. Bellamy paused his movements, concern clouding his expression. “I’m fine. Don’t stop. Please.”

She could feel his smile when he returned to her neck.

They got lost in each other after that. There was an eagerness to their movements, both desperate to be with each other after being apart for so long. There was a laziness to their movements too because—

_ They had hours. _

It was a hard fact to appreciate. Clarke had to force herself to slow down several times; she wanted to truly relish in every touch, every kiss; she wanted to tuck each moan and sigh that fell from his lips away. She was so used to rushing with him; rushing because of the cold, or because they’re in a communal spot, or because it was against the rules. 

Now, they had hours to be together —  _ just the two of them. _

Before they climbed into bed, her bra and pants were pushed to the floor, joining his pants as well.  _ This,  _ she was familiar with; pressing into each other under the blanket, hot, messy, firm kisses, shared breaths, heaving chests. It was all reminiscent to their time on the run; all the nights they spent pressed against each other, all the days they spent exploring each other.

His mouth moved across her breasts and she marvelled at how quickly he made her shudder below him. She grasped his shoulders as he kissed his way across her body, her nails digging into his skin ever so slightly. A moan tumbled from her lips when he tugged her painties off and pressed his fingers to her.

“Fuck,” she hissed, her back arching off the bed. “Bellamy.”

She panted into his mouth as he curled his fingers. Warmth built and built  _ and built,  _ the spring in her core tightening with each one of his movements. His name was a constant plea from her mouth, growing louder and louder as she neared the edge.

When she came undone, she stifled her cry by burying her face against his neck. His lips ghosted on the crown of her head, whispering sweet words to her as she came down.

When she pulled away from his neck, he spoke. “We’re alone,” Bellamy breathed, his voice soothing. “You can be as loud as you want.”

_ That  _ was something new. The prospect of being as loud as they wanted — of not holding back — made something stir in her.

He pulled back the slightest bit and smiled down at her. Her heart melted with love. Bellamy hovered over top of her, his eyes gazing at her with adoration. His thumb creased her jaw and he pressed a light kiss to her lips. “I missed you.”

She understood what he meant. He missed this — missed spending hours with just her, missed kissing each other breathless, missed making each other see stars.

“I missed you, too,” she replied.

His mouth connected with hers again, this kiss slower and deeper than before. His hand found hers and their fingers wound together. They held hands countless times before, but there was something about that moment that was so intimate that it made her chest crumple with the amount of love.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Wand.”

Unlike last time, his wand was on the nightstand and within reach. She grinned at him as he performed the contraceptive charm, her heart thrumming pleasantly in her chest.

_ She loved him. _

The feeling was undeniable and growing in her chest, fueling the pleasure already in her stomach once again. She wanted him to push inside her, to move with her, to be with her. She ached to watch his expression shift with pleasure, she wanted him to moan into her mouth, she wanted to pull him with her.

When he settled on top of her after setting down his wand, her hand cupped his cheek. How could someone be so sexy and so attractive  _ and so cute  _ at the same time? She’d never understand him.

“Are you good?” he questioned. His fingers interlaced with hers again, a soft and tender move that made her heart flutter.

“I’m perfect. You?”

“Perfect,” he echoed.

Clarke grinned wickedly and flipped around, positioning him below her on the bed. Bellamy went willingly, his eyes darkening with passion once again. She reached between them, her fingers hooking under the waistband of his boxers. He lifted his hips and helped her tug them off.

The ends of her hair brushed against his shoulders when she leaned forward to grind down on him. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers tightening. His breathing grew harsh and ragged, matching hers well. Their noses brushed against each others, sharing another long and intimate moment.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers trailing down the side of her face. “I love you.”

She rocked forward, pressing a sensual kiss to his lips. She fought to keep breathing through the warm jolts of pleasure. “I love you too, Bellamy.” 

She placed another kiss to his lips, this one much quicker than before. With that, she straightened up, rocking her hips against his again to get some friction. She groaned at the contact and bit her lip.

“You’re so fucking hot.”

She grinned coyly down at him. She ran her hands down his chest, her palm flush against his abdomen to balance herself. He was watching her in rapt attention, his eyes locked on her movements. His fingertips danced along her thighs, his touch light and filled with adoration.

Clarke reached down between them, shuddering at the sounds that spilled from his lips and from the way his hands tightened on her. The heat inside of her intensified. She wanted him to grip her hips tighter. She wanted his nails to dig into her flesh. She wanted his mouth on her, his teeth dragging across her body, her name falling from his lips.

Clarke’s fingers brushed over him a few more times and her bottom lip found its way between her teeth. Watching his expression shift to one of pleasure and want made heat coil low in her stomach.

He tugged at her hips and his eyes found hers — desperate, filled with desire, overflowing with a type of want she was achingly familiar with. She lined him up with her and locked eyes with him. His thumbs ran over the skin on her hips, drawing goosebumps.

“Clarke,” he said her name like a plea. Her steady movements faltered. “I want you.”

“I want you,” she breathed, echoing his words. She was shocked at how breathy and wrecked her voice already sounded.

Slowly, she sunk down on him, hissing from the stretch. His eyes fluttered shut and jaw went slack from the pleasure; she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Her hands gripped his shoulders for balance. Her chest heaved. Slowly — an aching pace — she lowered herself until he bottomed out, and her breath disappeared with a gasp.

Bellamy’s eyes locked with hers and, for a drawn out moment, they stared at each other. His arms curled around her frame, holding her closely, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. They were as close as physically possible in that moment. 

She rocked tentatively at first, experimentally moving her hips around. Bellamy’s hips jerked upwards and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out. Clarke lifted herself up and lowered again, arching her back from the pleasure coursing through her.

_ Fuck,  _ fucking Bellamy would never get old. She tried to keep her eyes locked on him, wanting to see how his expression changed with their movements. They were already flushed and sweating, their breathing ragged and heavy. 

“Bellamy,” she groaned, lowering herself back down on him. His hands tugged on her hips this time, pulling her closer. Her nails scratched at his shoulders.

He pressed kisses to every inch of skin in reach; her jaw, her neck, her breasts. It was hard to decipher what he was mumbling into her skin as she moved, and she only caught a few words at a time.

_ I love you. Clarke. I love you so fucking much. _

Each time she ground her hips against his produced a needy moan from him, which further elevated her. It was a quickly growing cycle — one that stole her breath and silenced the hum of her thoughts. 

They moved in time with each other. Their breaths grew ragged and shallow. The kiss they shared was sloppy. The space between them was filled with moans and soft whispers. 

Clarke studied his expression when she inched away from him. His gaze was intense on hers, sending butterflies erupting in her belly. 

When she tilted her hips, she let out a low cry and grasped his arms. The new angle made her nearly come undone as he thrust against even sweeter spots than before. Bellamy’s breathing hitched, too, as if he could feel the newfound pleasure coursing through her.

“Fuck,” she breathed. Her lips brushed against his jaw, her fingers tangled in his hair. She ground down harder than before, relishing in the sounds they both made. “Bellamy.  _ Bellamy.” _

Despite her wanting to make this last, she knew she was close.

Bellamy’s thrusts grew more erratic and she could tell he was close too. She reached down and grasped his hand with her own, winding their fingers together. Clarke wanted to feel as close to him as possible — she wanted the intimate moment to stretch.

“Clarke,” he groaned. His voice shook. Every thrust brought her closer and closer to the edge.  _ “Clarke.” _

She came apart, her mouth parted in a silent cry. Bellamy pressed needy kisses to her jaw as she rode out wave after wave of pleasure. A few thrusts later, he followed, coming with a muffled cry against her neck.

They stayed tangled together for a few long beats, their heaving chests pressed together.

“Next time,” Bellamy promised, still panting. “Next time, I’ll remember we can be loud.”

She laughed.

.

It was peaceful.

She wasn’t sure how long they laid together, but she had no intentions of climbing out of bed until she heard the floo downstairs. For now, she was content to stay in Bellamy’s bed, half asleep and filled with bliss.

Her eyes drifted shut and her breathing evened out, as did his. Her head rested on top of his chest and the steady rhythm of his heart lulled her to near sleep. Bellamy’s hand was warm on her bear back, tracing patterns onto the skin with a feather light touch.

“I love you,” he breathed.

She smiled blissfully. “I love you, too.”

“No, I love you  _ so  _ much, Clarke,” he breathed. The emotion in his voice made her falter. Her eyes opened and her palm pressed flush against his chest. “I am so in love with you; so much so that I don’t know what to do about it most of the time. I love you for your brilliance, and your strength, and your resilience — it’s true. But I love you for your ambition, and your determination, and your stubbornness. I don’t just love the good in you — I love  _ everything  _ about you, even the things that drive me insane. Like your inexplicable hate of syrup and your ability to lose one sock from every pair at a shocking rate.” 

She laughed and placed a chaste kiss to his chest. She couldn’t find the words to speak, and she hoped her tender touches conveyed everything she wanted.

Bellamy’s hold on her tightened. His heartbeat quickened. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if he was going to speak. And, then— “When this war is over, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

She stilled at that.

Her heart hammered in her chest and the air got caught in her lungs. Her thoughts raced a mile a minute, because—

_ Bellamy wanted to marry her. _

She swallowed thickly. “You’re not thinking straight,” she promised him. “It’s just post-sex talk, you—”

“I mean it,” he told her, his voice sure. “I love you, Clarke, and it’s a forever type of love.” She could feel his body tensing underneath hers. “I mean, if that isn’t what you were thinking, then—”

“No,” she said quickly, sitting up in front of him. His hand trailed down to rest against her waist. Their eyes locked. Her heart pounded. “No, that wasn’t what I meant,” she promised him. “I… I love you, too, Bellamy. I want to marry you, too,  _ I do.”  _ Her words stuck to the inside of her throat and her eyes grew blurry from the sudden onset of tears. There was nothing more she wanted in the world — she wanted that future with him. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I just… I’m a Griffin. Love and marriage… That’s not a thing my family does well.”

Bellamy’s thumb rubbed soothing circles on her skin, stealing her breath away. “You love me well enough already,” he teased. Clarke choked on a wet laugh. Her love for him somehow managed to grow. “I’m kidding, but I’m not. You have so much love in your heart, Clarke, and you’re not afraid to show it. Even if your family doesn’t do it well, you do. You’re not you family. You have never been.”

“I’d make a terrible wife.”

“I love you.”

“I’m horrible in the mornings. And I stay up too late for my own good. I hog the blankets.”

“You’re telling me things I already know.”

“And I stress, and I overthink, and analyse, and…”

“And I love you for it all,” he told her. He looked at her like he looked at the stars; awed, and full of wonder and hope. “I’m sure I’d make a terrible husband. Maybe not. I guess we’ll figure that out together one day.”

Clarke had to bite her lip to suppress her smile. “One day.”

“The only reason I’m not asking you now is because we wouldn’t be able to get married until the war’s over,” he explained. “We’re both on the wanted list. I doubt they’d let us waltz into the Ministry to file a marriage license.”

She laughed and melted back into his side. “Yeah. I somehow doubt it.”

“But after,” he promised. “The second this war is over, I’m marrying you, Clarke Griffin.” He paused. “If you still want to.”

She couldn’t imagine a world where she wouldn’t want to.

Clarke fell silent at that, too content to speak anymore. Her eyes were locked on the ceiling and smiled so wide that it hurt her cheeks. 

_ Marriage. _

It was something she had never truly considered growing up. She was raised on old pureblood traditions and beliefs, including the idea that marriage was done for economic and political reasons. Marriage was a weapon and a tool; rarely was it done out of love, not necessity.

It was at this moment that Clarke realized she was  _ free.  _ She wasn’t apart of that world anymore; she chose to leave it all behind when she fled Griffin Manor all those months ago. She walked away from more than just blood prejudice, and dark arts, and family — she walked away from  _ everything;  _ those ways of life included.

She was free to do whatever she wanted, to marry whoever she wanted, to be whoever she wanted. When the war was over, she could do anything she ever dreamed of — and that was something she never had the opportunity for before.

Clarke interlocked her fingers with Bellamy’s on his abdomen and allowed her eyes to flutter shut once more.

_ She could do anything she wanted when the war was over — and what she wanted was to marry Bellamy. _

She couldn’t recall a time where she was happier or more content.

* * *

_ February 21, 1998 _

Clarke was shaken awake.

Before she could comprehend what was going on, her hand curled around her wand and she stumbled out of bed. She swayed on her feet and blinked rapidly.

“Relax. It’s me,” Diyoza hissed. 

Clarke took in pieces of her surroundings, her heart racing with adrenaline. The door to her room was pushed open, allowing the yellow-tinged light from the hallway to spill in. The older witch was wearing what she knew was her sleeping attire; an old, worn grey shirt and green sweats. Her wand was tucked into the waistband of her pants. Despite the urgency in Diyoza’s voice, it didn’t look like they were in danger.

“What’s going on?” Clarke lowered her wand and studied her closely. “What time is it?”

“Half past four.” Diyoza inclined her head towards the door, gesturing her to follow. Across the room, Raven was still fast asleep, and it looked like Diyoza intended to keep it that way. “We need to move quickly, Griffin.” Just as she was about to ask another question, she spoke. “And  _ quietly.” _

Her confusion increased tenfold when she saw Murphy in the hallway, leaning against the wall and half asleep. Still coming down from the adrenaline rush of being woken up so suddenly, she shifted back and forth on her feet.

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked. Diyoza didn’t turn to them like she expected; instead, she hastily shut Clarke’s bedroom door and began to lead them down the hallway. Clarke jogged to catch up with her. “Why—”

“Minerva is here to see you both,” she said. 

The panic from earlier came back full force. They didn’t have a meeting scheduled with McGonagall, not for a few more weeks.

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?” Murphy grumbled.

“It’s urgent.”

Something was wrong. Something happened. It was the only thing that made sense. Why else would McGonagall show up unannounced in the middle of the night? 

They descended the stairs. Clarke tried to keep calm and level-headed. No matter why McGonagall was here, they were all safe, and that was what mattered. She could handle anything else.

(Except, she still felt sick to her stomach with nerves.)

McGonagall was waiting for them in the kitchen. In all her life, Clarke couldn’t recall a time where she looked more dishevelled. Her robes were skewed and her hair wasn’t swept into its usual clean bun.

“Clarke, John.” McGonagall smiled tightly at them before turning to Diyoza. “Thank you, Charmaine. That will be all.”

She hesitated before leaving. “Is something wrong?”

McGonagall pursed her lips and kept her expression blank. “We will discuss it later.” Her sharp gaze settled on both her and Murphy. “For now, I have a few questions for you both.”

“What’s going on?” Clarke asked. She was almost afraid to find out. Between the timing, and the professor’s rumpled appearance, and her tight tone, she could tell something horrible was happening. “What happened?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to keep this meeting short.” McGonagall glanced at the clock that hung above the sink and frowned. “I’ve already been gone for too long.”

“I’m confused,” Murphy spoke. “I thought we were meeting in a few weeks?”

“Things at Hogwarts have changed. I believe you’re both aware that Hogwarts students have Hogsmeade weekend during the weekend closest to Valentine’s Day?” 

Clarke remembered this from when she was a student. Everyone always produced such drama around who was going with who to Hogsmeade for the holiday when she was a student. She tried to keep away from that and focus on making the best use of her time in the wizarding village. 

“There was an unfortunate incident that weekend between a few Slytherin students and several shop owners. Those students felt as though they were in the right, and involved their parents and other authoritative figures.” Her expression soured. “Since then, there has been an increase in monitoring of Hogwarts and the staff.”

“Uhm. Alright?” Murphy and Clarke shared a look. “Where do we fit into that? Which students?”

“No, no. I don’t believe I’m being clear.” McGonagall adjusted her glasses on her nose. “The castle is being watched.  _ I  _ am being watched. This means I am unable to continue the majority of my work with the Order until the situation deescalates.”

Clarke’s heart sunk. Dread brewed. “You’re saying…?”

“Our partnership will cease until further notice.” The professor looked exhausted. “Believe me, this is not ideal. The information from you two has been useful. It has aided in several Order missions — all of which are classified, I’m afraid.”

The silence that followed was crushing. Clarke struggled to breathe, she struggled to think, she struggled to comprehend.

_ No. _

After all she did — after all they’d been through —  _ this was it?  _ Her partnership with the Order was ending before it truly began. She risked  _ everything  _ to get back here — to get back to the Order — and now she was being told it was all for nothing?

She thought of the mission to Diagon and Knockturn Alley to get the Polyjuice potion ingredients. She thought of almost losing Bellamy from that mission, she thought of how she had to kill Jugson to ensure they succeeded.

She thought of all the long nights of brewing the potion; all the blood, sweat and tears she put into it. She thought of the mission to Hogwarts; of leaving Bellamy behind, of nearly losing him, of risking it all  _ just to get here,  _ just so she could help fight this war.

_ And it was all for nothing. _

“No.” Clarke shook her head. “No, you can’t.”

“As I said, this is not done by choice. My comings and goings are being watched and no owl should be trusted to carry sensitive information at a time like this. The only reason I am here today is because I’m desperate.”

Clarke knew that feeling. She was desperate, too; desperate to keep contributing to the Order, desperate to be helpful in whatever way possible. She still had information to give. She could still be of use.

“No,” she said again, her voice stronger than before. “Please, professor, this can’t—”

“It is out of my hands. I’m sorry.” Clarke tried to speak, but her mouth refused to form any words. Before she could regain her composure, McGonagall was speaking again. “This announcement was not the only reason behind my visit. I was hoping you two could provide some insight on a topic, if it isn’t too much to ask.”

Murphy laughed dryly. “One last time?”

“Unfortunately.” Clarke would’ve sworn McGonagall smiled in Murphy’s direction. “Several people have gone missing over the last few months. Do you know the student Luna Lovegood?”

“You mean Loony Lovegood?” Murphy questioned. He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Sure, I know her.”

Clarke knew of the girl as well; she was a Ravenclaw in the year below her and she was friends with Potter. Even before Hogwarts, she knew the girl, as she came from a pureblood family. Her family’s reputation was poor due to their outlandish beliefs.

“Ms. Lovegood is missing.” Murphy’s laugh died immediately. “She went home for winter break and never returned to Hogwarts. We haven’t seen or heard from her since. Her father has been silent about the issue, and has avoided our attempts and offers of help.”

“Her father runs a news publication, doesn’t he?” Clarke recalled. “Or did that fall to the Death Eaters, just like  _ The Prophet?”  _ It seemed as if any news sources other than Potterwatch were slowly being taken over.

“You’re correct; her father owns a magazine. The opinions he published before the end of the year were… problematic to You-Know-Who, to say the least. We’re theorizing that Ms. Lovegood is being held ransom due to this. She isn’t the only one; Dean Thomas is also missing.” She knew of him too; he was a Gryffindor student in their year.

Clarke felt sick. She wasn’t a stranger to the tragedies of war; she heard the names of the dead read on Potterwatch, she knew witches and wizards were going missing all the time.  _ But this was different.  _ She knew these people — albeit, not well, but  _ she knew them.  _ They weren’t just faceless names, they weren’t just numbers and statistics.

It hit her hard. It was another harsh reminder of how real this war was.

“Do either of you know anything about kidnappings?”

Murphy stepped forward, eyes flashing. “Need I remind you that we defected? Neither of us have been on  _ that _ side for months. We don’t know shit. And, if we did, we would’ve already told you about—”

“I’m aware,” McGonagall said, her voice tense. “I was not implying you were withholding information. I’m asking if either of you know the  _ procedure _ for kidnappings by Death Eaters. That’s all.” Murphy settled beside her. “I am assuming they would need to be held somewhere. Is there a family estate that they would likely use?”

Clarke and Murphy locked eyes.

“Pucey?” he suggested.

“No, they’re more of a financial supporter than a physical.”

“Right, right. And Pucey Senior is kind of a prick, too.”

“Maybe Crabbe?” she returned.

“Fuck no. They might be pure-blood, but their manor is smaller than mine, and that’s saying something.”

“Right. Same goes for the Goyles. I would suggest Nott Manor, but Nott Senior spent the last few decades in Azkaban, so I doubt their home is well kept. We all know how they wouldn’t want to show that off to their precious Dark Lord.” They both rolled their eyes.

They continued to toss names back and forth, but there was only one estate that stuck out in Clarke’s mind. They would likely choose somewhere grand, well structured, and that belonged to a high ranking Death Eater.

“What about Malfoy Manor?” Murphy suggested.

“Yes! That would be likely. It’s old and been passed through the family for generations. Plus, it’s the Malfoys.” Clarke tried to think back to her childhood. “It has dungeons, too. Malfoy dared me to go down to the cells once. He never paid up when I won that bet.”

Murphy began to explain their conclusions to McGonagall. As he did, she ran through a few more Death Eater families, trying to think of another potential place they’d be holding—

She paused.

Her blood ran cold when the thought occurred to her. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Dread and nervousness settled in her once again.

“—and Lestrange was staying there the last I heard, and we all know how big of a supporter she is. She’d probably think it’s an honor to have the wonderful and gracious Dark Lord staying with them.” Murphy rolled his eyes and grimaced. “Besides—”

“It could be Griffin Manor,” Clarke interrupted. Murphy’s gaze snapped to hers. She was careful not to stare at McGonagall, suddenly afraid of what she would think. “My home… my  _ old  _ home, it is like Malfoy Manor. It’s old and big and  _ horrible.  _ My mother, she’s pretty high up in the ranks. And… I mean… I know our house was used before. Last summer, I wasn’t allowed to enter the cellar, which leads to cells.” She felt sick talking about it.

It was horrifying to think about. She used to live in a place that was used for such horrible things.  _ She was right there and did nothing. _

Clarke wanted to run. The silence was thick. She could feel both Murphy’s and McGonagall’s eyes on her — watching, examining, studying. Her throat felt tight.

Then, after a long moment, McGonagall nodded. “Good. Thank you. I’ll pass on the information to the Order.” She glanced at the clock and frowned. “I need to get going. I hope the high amount surveillance will decrease soon, so I can continue my work. Until then, I thank you for all you both have done. Your information has helped us more than I can tell you.”

“That’s it then?” Murphy questioned. He sounded as bitter as Clarke felt. “This is the end?”

McGonagall hesitated. “I encourage the both of you to continue your paths. While I will no longer be around to assist, there are other people you can trust. Charmaine is one of them. Kingsley is another. I’m afraid, in times like these, there is never an end to the work.”

Clarke wasn’t too sure what to make of what she said. Before she could ask, McGonagall was moving forward, her arms outstretched.

She had to hold back tears as she returned her mentor’s embrace. This was the woman who saved her life more than once. She was a guide to her in the darkest period of her life. 

_ She didn’t want to say goodbye. _

“I’m so proud of you, Clarke,” she said. “No matter what happens, no matter what people may say; you will always have a home with us.”

_ Home.  _

Clarke nearly cried at that word.

McGonagall gave Murphy a tight smile. “It has been a pleasure working with you both. Stay safe.”

And, with that, she left.

* * *

_ March 4, 1998 _

That night started like any other.

Diyoza’s house smelled like vanilla after a baking incident with Murphy, the radio played faintly from the corner of the room, and  _ things were good. _ Clarke couldn’t recall another time in her life where things were so peaceful and warm.

They were all sprawled around the living room, a deck of cards spread between their hands. Bellamy’s back was pressed against Clarke’s knees as he sat on the floor in front of her, and she couldn’t imagine a more comfortable position in the world.

Mindlessly, she reached forward and brushed her fingers through his curls. His head tilted back ever so slightly, and she caught the tail-end of a blissful smile.

_ Yeah. This was nice. _

The curtains were drawn around the house to hide the identities of those inside, but Clarke liked to imagine the soft white snowflakes that were sure to be falling from the sky. She could almost imagine the glow of the Muggle lights reflecting off the untouched snow on the ground, creating a picturesque world.

In moments like these, it was hard to imagine how much horror was going on in the world. It seemed like things were perfect — the world was beautiful, the street was silent, her stomach was full and cheeks flushed, she was surrounded by friends. 

Things were good.

_ She should’ve known something terrible was going to happen. _

Her eyes left the faces of her cards and darted around the room. Murphy was a curious sight. He was perched on the armchair with the cards held in front of his face, but his gaze was held by something far in the distance. Clarke shifted her eyes and felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips.

_ Raven. _

He was staring at Raven.

The older girl was across the room from Murphy, her stack of cards in one hand, and a half-eaten chocolate frog in her other hand. While Murphy was all eyes for her, she didn’t spare him a single glance. Instead, her concentration on her cards was deadly.

Her eyes drifted to the curly brown hair beneath her fingertips, her heart still in her throat. Almost like he could feel her staring at him, he tilted his head back and caught her gaze. His lips were quirked upwards and it took everything in her not to bend forward and capture those lips with her own.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” a familiar voice came from the radio in the corner, quickly breaking the light mood in the house.

_ Lee. It was Lee Jordan. _

Clarke’s throat closed tight at the realization. Potterwatch had quickly grown to be one of the highlights of her week. It made her feel less alone and less isolated, even though she hadn’t left the safe house in months. Raven and Murphy were right that first time she listened to Lee Jordan on the radio; the show brought hope to people and it was nice to be updated on the world outside of the bubble they lived in. 

The information passed on was invaluable; like, a few weeks ago, Potterwatch informed everyone of the taboo placed on the word ‘Voldemort,’ which was terrifying. If they merely spoke You-Know-Who’s name, all the wards and protections would shatter, and Death Eaters would be called to their location. Without Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins’ broadcasting system, they would be none the wiser.

_ She liked Potterwatch. She was thankful for it. _

Except, her whole body froze up this night.

The weekly broadcast of Potterwatch aired only a few hours ago. They weren’t expecting another show until next week. Hell, the only reason they were still on this channel was because the broadcast ended not too long ago.

_ Something was wrong. _

“This is your host, River, coming to you live with breaking news! I repeat, we have breaking news!”

A cold washed over her. The atmosphere in the room shifted immediately. The space grew heavy and palpable. Her heart raced. Below her, Bellamy’s hand came to rest on her leg, grounding both of them.

“Minutes ago, we got word from a reliable source of an extraordinary feat from right inside Hogwarts herself!” Jordan’s voice was close to hysterical. He sounded breathless, like he had just finished sprinting. “One of our very own peers from Gryffindor stood up for Muggles and Muggleborn witches and wizards during a Muggle Studies class earlier this afternoon. The uproar ended with said group of students setting fire to the back-half of the classroom, burning majority of the propaganda-filled textbooks.”

Raven let out a breathless laugh at that, her excitement evident. Murphy lifted his glass in a silent toast. “Hell yeah.”

Clarke couldn’t help but smile at the act of defiance. She knew from first-hand experience that Hogwarts was in dire need of hope and resistance. The students were fighting back, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel proud.

“From reports, the demonstration was inspiring and supported by many others in the Gryffindor house. This act of defiance quickly turned violent as certain Death Eater professors and Death Eater supporters became involved. The group of five brave students was led by one Octavia Blake this afternoon.”

_ The world stopped. _

She could hear Lee Jordan continuing to praise the students that participated in the uproar, but she wasn’t listening anymore. The sounds around her grew muggy, like she was instantly thrown under several feet of water.

_ Yes,  _ she most definitely was under several feet of water.  _ She was drowning.  _ Her lungs were refusing to work. She felt like she was detached from her body and floating miles away.

_ Fuck.  _

_ That was Bellamy’s sister. _

She knew how important Octavia was to him. They spent more nights than she could keep track of talking about people they loved and lost. He grew up raising her. He grew up taking care of her, even when their mother was still alive. And, after she died, he  _ truly  _ was the only one raising her and taking care of her.

She knew how he felt too. She was his responsibility – he was raised to think this way. Guilt ate away at him from everything that happened over the last year. He blamed himself for letting her get sucked into the war. He blamed himself for losing her, and for not taking care of her.

Her eyes snapped to the head of curls resting against her knees. She could feel the tension in his body. He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing. He was completely frozen. 

_ Are you drowning too,  _ she wondered.

_ Yes,  _ she thought, already knowing the answer.  _ He is drowning. _

“Octavia and her group of ‘delinquents’ suffered — and I quote — ‘one of the most brutal punishments’ that our unnamed reporter has witnessed.”

Bellamy lurched forward at this, his wand in his hand. The room was deadly silent, and she could  _ hear  _ him gasping for breath. She could feel him shaking against her legs.

“I have multiple reports of grotesque amounts of torture these students endured, from the Cruciatus Curse, to an unaccompanied trip to the Forbidden Forrest, to something much worse.”

_ She felt sick. _

She was going to get sick, or pass out, or both. Her vision was tilting on its side, her heart was racing in her chest, and it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

_ This was Bellamy’s sister.  _ This was the girl he cared more about than anyone in the world. This was the person he dedicated his life to protecting. It felt like she was drowning because she knew how Bellamy was going to react – she knew how he was going to feel.

_ This was going to destroy him. _

A new voice came from the radio, but she was only half-paying attention. She couldn’t rip her gaze off of Bellamy’s completely rigid form. “Do you have any advice for students listening? Should they continue to fight back like Blake did?”

Hearing his sister’s name caused something new to roll over Bellamy. His muscles tensed up, as if hearing her name caused a chill to settle into his bones. She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine it in that moment. 

_ Deadly. Blank. Empty. Numb. _

“No. What Octavia did, while badass, was reckless. We here at Potterwatch  _ do not  _ encourage all you youngsters listening to follow in the footsteps of Blake, we—”

In one fluid movement, Bellamy’s wand was lifted and pointed at the smouldering radio. Raven let out an involuntary yelp at the loud bang that came from the spot the radio sat only a moment before. Sparks rained down from the tip of his wand from the spell he nonverbally fired.

For a moment, the room was still.

Clarke hadn’t taken her eyes off of Bellamy’s form. She desperately tried to get a read on him, but she couldn’t. He was tensed still, and his outstretched arm was shaking. His breathing was coming out in heavy gasps.

Her heart lurched for him. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through. He already struggled with leaving her at Hogwarts, and  _ now she was suffering there.  _ He was going to blame himself. He was going to—

Bellamy let out a primal scream and another jet of light flew out of the tip of his wand. This time, the spell hit the side table the radio had been sitting on, and it splintered away. He let out another scream, one that made Clarke’s blood curdle.

“Bellamy,” Raven tried, her voice hesitant. He must’ve been so absorbed with his shock that he didn’t hear her. The skin along his knuckles was pale from clutching his wand so tightly. His whole body was vibrating. Raven tried again. “Bell—”

He whipped his head around, moving for the first time since before they heard the radio. Clarke caught sight of the side of his face and it made her heart crumble.

_ He looked destroyed.  _ His mouth was caught in a permanent snarl, his teeth were locked, the muscles ripped across his jaw, and his eyes were brimming with unshed tears.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice hoarse.

Raven inched forward. Her hands were outstretched, as if she was approaching a wounded animal, not someone mourning. “Bellamy, I’m so sorry.”

He let out a broken sob. “I said  _ don’t!” _

His voice had taken on a broken and desperate tone. He was pleading with Raven and it broke her heart.

_ She wished she could take all his pain away. _

The room had fallen back into silence. Clarke quickly glanced around the room, taking in the concerned expressions on all her friends’ faces. 

A thick blanket had settled over the group. In that moment, it felt like they were all experiencing the same thing together. Nobody wanted to make a sound or make a movement, out of fear of shattering the final few pieces that held Bellamy together. Nobody wanted to move and bring reality crashing back to him.

_ They all knew.  _ They all knew that this would hurt him more than they could ever begin to imagine.  _ Merlin,  _ what were they going to do? 

_ What was he going to do? _

That thought struck her hard. It didn’t take much effort to imagine what he’d do. Even before she was in danger, he was willing to do anything to keep her safe. 

Diyoza was the one to break the silence. “What’s going on?”

She was the only one not in the room when Potterwatch came on, and now she’d stumbled into a room filled with invisible chaos and thick tension. They were rooted to their seats, various expressions of horror and concern across their faces. Bellamy was barely containing his hysteria. His wand was still clutched between shaking fingers and pointed in the direction of the smouldering radio.

She took all of this in and come to a conclusion because  _ finally,  _ after what felt like hours of more silence, her gaze swivelled to his and she spoke. “Blake, what’s going on?”

_ That was the final fracture. _

Reality crashed against Bellamy with Diyoza’s words. He pushed off the ground and stumbled away without another word.

His movements broke the silence on the group.

Raven jumped up from her seat, but made no movement towards him. “Bellamy!”

_ He ignored her. _

The room erupted into chaos, with voices overlapping, calling out to him.

_ He ignored them. _

Before any of them could catch his attention, the front door was pulled open, and he escaped into the night. The door slammed shut, effectively silencing the group once again.

Her blood rushed through her ears, drowning out all of the other sounds around her. Reality felt so far away. It was just her, and the pounding of her heart, the chill down her spine, and the pure terror encompassing her body.

_ Bellamy left the safe house.  _

Fear flooded her systems with this realization — a deeper fear than anything she’d felt before. She’d been scared more times than she could remember, she’d been terrified more than she could count — she wasn’t a stranger to this feeling.

_ But how deep she felt it was new.  _ She could feel it in her bones, like it was a poison that was embedded deep in her marrow. Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her body and  _ twisted,  _ just like her stomach.

_ Fuck.  _ Bellamy was out there alone. He left the safe house  _ alone.  _ Every Snatcher and Death Eater knew his face, thanks to her mother. This was dangerous — all it took was  _ one  _ person to recognize him, and he’d be dead or worse.

_ She needed to help him. _

Bellamy.  _ Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy, B— _

Clarke was moving before her mind could process what was happening. She was so focused on getting to Bellamy and bringing him back home that she didn’t grab her coat or her wand as she raced out the front door. In her haste, she slammed on a random pair of shoes before taking off.

She flew out the front door and choked on her words from the freezing temperatures. The snow stung her skin, sending a zap up her spine. The wind blew all traces of her body heat away from her, causing goosebumps to erupt.

Clarke barely paid attention to that. She was moving through the snow, her thoughts completely consumed by Bellamy. She could see him thankfully, but he was already making his way up the block.

“Bellamy!” she hissed, hoping the stillness of the night would allow her voice to carry to him. She pushed forward, sprinting towards him. When he didn’t respond to her call, she picked up the pace. “Bellamy!”

Still, he didn’t respond. She didn’t know if he was so absorbed with his thoughts that he couldn’t hear her, or if he was choosing to ignore her.

It didn’t really matter. What mattered was the fact  _ he was outside the safe house.  _ He was on wanted posters all across the Wizarding World and a bounty was on his head. He was walking through a Muggle area with his wand drawn. And he—

Clarke nearly tripped over her feet when she realized what was happening.

_ He was going to the Apparation point.  _ He was headed in the same direction they came from when they first arrived and she knew that meant one thing.

_ He was leaving.  _ He wasn’t just running onto the street to escape the tension and emotions in the safe house –  _ he was leaving completely. _

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ He was going after Octavia. She knew him well enough to know what he was planning. He was going to go to Hogwarts and get Octavia out of there.  _ He was acting with his heart – he was thinking without logic. _

“Bellamy!” Her tone had grown desperate at this point. She needed to get to him before someone else did, or before he Apparated away. She needed to get him back in the house before he got himself murdered.

She cursed at herself for leaving her wand inside the house. She really wished she could’ve cast a spell, like a simple  _ Petrificus Totalus _ , to stop him from going any further. 

_ He kept walking.  _ Every step he took, he was drawing closer and closer to the Apparation point. Every second they spent outside the safe house, they were in danger.

_ No.  _ No, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t leave. If he managed to Apparate away, then  _ that was it.  _ She couldn’t go after him; she wouldn’t even know where he intended on going. 

_ She needed to stop him.  _

If she didn’t, it was nearly guaranteeing his death.

Clarke slowed her jog enough to bend down and scoop up a fistful of snow. She pressed it together quickly and flung it towards him with as much strength as she could muster.

It hit its mark.

The snowball pounded against Bellamy’s shoulder, making him freeze to the ground. Not wanting to waste this opportunity, Clarke sprinted the remainder of the distance.

“Where do you think you’re going!?” she hissed once she knew he could hear her.

He turned around and finally Clarke got to see his expression. 

She couldn’t recall a time where he looked more wrecked.

His jaw was tight and teeth clenched. His eyes burned with an intensity and a deep pain. He looked lost.

_ Lost and panicked. _

“Bellamy,” she stated simply, willing her voice to remain even, even though she felt like sobbing and pleading. “Where are you going?”

His jaw twitched. “You know where.”

“Bellamy, you can’t go after her.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

“You won’t get close to the castle.” She reached for him and took hold of his forearm. As long as they were in physical contact, he wouldn’t be able to Apparate without her.  _ Either he was staying or she was coming with him. _ “Bellamy, please, don’t go.”

“Clarke—”

“I hate to bring this up right now, but the only reason I managed to get in the castle and find Octavia was because we had months of planning and Polyjuice Potion. I knew the person I was pretending to be. I was in the right places at the right times.” Bellamy’s jaw tightened and he looked away from her. “If you go now, you won’t be able to make it through the front gates.”

“I don’t care. I don’t—”

“And, when you get in, they’ll take you. They’ll take you and— and— I don’t know.” Clarke’s mind was racing. She was desperate to convince him to stay, to convince him not to charge into danger. “If they find you, they’ll take you and kill you, Bellamy. Or worse.” Her fear was growing. “They know who you are because of me, and I know my mother. If any Death Eater gets ahold of you, she’s coming.”

“And what about Octavia?” he countered. “She’s my sister. You don’t think your mother will come for her too?”

It was something that had been on Clarke’s mind ever since she found out Octavia was at Hogwarts. She told the younger Blake to keep her head down for this exact reason. And now that she was causing trouble for the Death Eaters, Clarke wasn’t sure how her mother would respond.

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. She wished she could take all his worries away. She wished she could tell him exactly what he wanted to hear.  _ But she could.  _ She wouldn’t lie to him. “I… I have to assume that my mother isn’t interested in her. If she was going to get to you through her, it would’ve happened by now.”

_ She hoped she was right. _

“Regardless of my mother’s reaction, you can’t go,” Clarke insisted. “If you try to get into Hogwarts, you’ll draw her attention, and then you  _ and _ Octavia are both screwed.”

“But—”

“You have no way to get in, no plan, and absolutely  _ no  _ chance.” She tightened her grip on his shirt and tried to keep her voice even. “You going now wouldn’t save her. It would put her in more danger, and you know it.”

“I can’t… I can’t just  _ leave  _ her,” he said, his voice cracking. His panic was slowly bleeding away to something much more heartbreaking.

“And I can’t have you risk your life,” she told him. “I won’t let you, Bellamy. I know that makes me a hypocrite, and maybe it makes me selfish, but  _ I’m not going to let you do this.  _ I’m not going to let you  _ charge  _ in there like the fucking Gryffindor we both know you are.” Her throat burned. Her chest ached. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

Her admission was the breaking point. He let out a broken sob and moved towards her, collapsing into her open arms. Her hands shook as they wrapped around his back.

“I can’t give up on her. I can’t leave her.” He clung to her.

She knew.

He’d never abandon his sister, especially not when she needed him. He was a fighter — a protector, and he was willing to risk everything to keep Octavia safe. He’d give his life if it meant rescuing Octavia.

“I can’t do that, Clarke,” he continued, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Please don’t ask me to do this.”

_ She cried for him. _

“I’m not,” she promised him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, cradling him with all the tenderness she could muster in that moment. “I’d never ask you to leave her. I know you wouldn’t.” When Clarke pulled away, both of their cheeks were wet with tears. Her resolve strengthened. “We’ll go together.”

Bellamy jerked away, his eyes wide. “What?”

_ She’d never been more sure about anything in her life.  _

“I’m not letting you do this alone. We’re partners, Bellamy.” She learned her mistakes from last time. “I’m not asking you to abandon her. I could never ask you to forget about her, but I’m  _ begging  _ you; don’t go right now. I’m asking you to plan, and to wait, and to  _ stay.  _ We will get her back.”

“I can’t—” His voice cracked. “I can’t ask you to do this. It’s my sister, she’s my responsibility—”

“And we’re partners; that means we do this together.” She cupped his face. His expression crumpled. “I promise you — we will get her out of there. We will save her. I swear, Bellamy, we will do this. Together, okay?”

His eyes screwed shut. A beat of silence passed. Finally, he spoke.

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are pieces of this chapter that I've had pre-written since June 2019, so I'm VERY HAPPY I finally was able to use them!!
> 
> This is the second time I've written smut and the first without a pre-reader so... if the chapter was decent, pls let me know! (AKA 'oh wow I'm nervous about this chapter because idk how to write smut yet so pls let me know if it was good. but if it wasn't good, pls don't let me know because im a sensitive bitch')
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Paw  
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	32. Chapter 31: Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps through time similar to the last one. None of the dates are important, but they're mentioned to show passage of time.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_CLARKE_ **

_March 4, 1998_

* * *

Clarke gratefully took the offered towel from Diyoza and kicked off the pair of shoes she had grabbed randomly while chasing after Bellamy. She was shivering from spending time in the snow, the chill having reached the deepest part of her.

“What the _hell_ were you two thinking!?” Diyoza snapped as soon as Bellamy entered the house behind her. She tossed the towel at Bellamy. His expression was blank, his eyes hard, his jaw locked. He looked like he was barely keeping himself together, and Clarke couldn’t tell if he was suppressing his anger or anguish. Maybe it was both. “You two were _way_ out of line leaving the safe house.”

“I’m not in the mood for a lecture,” Bellamy snapped, his voice rough. He threw the towel off of his shoulders and to the ground.

“I don’t care what you’re in the mood for, Blake. You know the rules.” Diyoza’s hands were fists at her sides. She looked livid. Clarke stood straighter and stepped in front of Bellamy. “You two know better than this. You could’ve died! You could’ve alerted You-Know-Who’s forces of our location! Hell, for all we know, they _were_ alerted and they’re on their way here right now.” Her chest heaved. Her gaze was a mix of anger and disappointment. The latter stung more. “You put us _all_ in jeopardy. It was selfish, it was stupid, it was—”

“Enough,” Clarke said. “We’re sorry. We know the rules. We just—”

“—weren’t thinking?” Diyoza countered. “You left the wards, and that has consequences. You—”

Bellamy brushed passed both Clarke and Diyoza on his way towards the stairs at the end of the hallway. Diyoza wasn’t expecting this; her mouth snapped shut and her eyes went wide.

“Blake!” she called. “Blake, I’m not done talking to you!”

“Fuck off.”

Diyoza made a move to go after him, but Clarke stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flashed with anger and met hers. “Griffin—”

“That story on the radio was about his sister — a sister he raised and loves,” Clarke said, her voice low. “We didn’t go out there for _fun,_ Diyoza. Despite what you think, we aren’t stupid. He went out there with intentions to _leave.”_ She dropped her grip on her arm. “He knows what he did was dangerous. We both do. But I’m not going to apologize for either of our actions. I’m not sorry for going after Bellamy. I would _always_ go after him, even if you give me an hour long lecture about how I was wrong for doing so.”

The older witch stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Clarke’s body vibrated with nerves and adrenaline. 

Finally, Diyoza spoke. “I didn’t know. Is his sister okay? Was she one of the names—?”

“She’s alive, but she’s in trouble.” The fight drained from Clarke once she heard Diyoza’s concern. “Please, just… don’t hold this against him.”

“He’s still responsible for his actions, even if he has an adequate explanation,” Diyoza said sharply. “Both of you are. You both left the safe house and put all of us in danger. There will be consequences.”

“Fine.” Clarke crossed her arms and glared. “But leave him alone for now, okay? Please.”

They stood toe-to-toe, each refusing to waver. 

After a long moment, Diyoza nodded stiffly. With that, she stepped back from Clarke and turned towards Murphy and Raven in the living room threshold. “Dinner’s ready.”

As soon as Diyoza entered the kitchen, Clarke let out the breath she was holding and slumped forward. Her heart was pounding and she was shaking for more reasons than just the cold.

“Fuck, Griffin.” Murphy stepped forward, the throw from the living room in his hands. He tossed it around her shoulders and studied her expression. “I thought you were about to punch her.”

She wanted to tell him that she would’ve, but she was too shocked to form words.

“Are you okay?” Raven pressed, stepping closer. She ran her hands up and down her arms a few times, bringing warmth back to her limbs. “What happened?”

“He was going to leave,” she told them. Murphy’s eyebrows rose in shock while Raven looked sick. “He’s taking it really hard.” Raven tried to hide her concern, but Clarke saw through her mask.

“What was he going to do?” Raven asked. She could feel her hands shaking against her arms. Clarke gripped her hand in hers. “Where was he going?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “To Hogwarts, I assume.” She squeezed her hands. “We’re still going.”

“What?” Murphy’s grip tightened on Clarke’s shoulder. He looked frantic. “Like hell you are.”

Clarke pulled the throw tighter around her shoulders. “We need to get Octavia out of there. We’ll have a better chance if we do it together; two wands are better than one. _And_ we’ll have a plan.”

“Clarke—”

“It’s decided,” she told him, leaving no room for discussion.

He let out a short bark of laughter. “I’m not arguing with you, Clarke. I know how you are when you set your mind to things.” His expression softened. “I was going to say I’m coming with you.”

_Oh._

Clarke must’ve looked as shocked as she felt because Murphy laughed. “What? Do you think I’ll let you do this alone?”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Perfect. I’m bored out of my fucking mind here.”

“You’ll be risking your life.”

“When is my life _not_ at risk?” Murphy looked too relaxed for this. Did he not understand what he was agreeing to? Did he not understand that she wasn’t joking? “If you’re going, so am I.”

“Me too,” Raven said, her expression set. Clarke wanted to cry. “I’m coming too.”

“But—”

“We know,” Raven cut in. She gave Clarke’s hands a strong squeeze. “We know it’s dangerous. We know.”

“And frankly, I don’t care,” Murphy continued. “I’m up for any opportunity to stun a few Death Eaters.”

“And I’m _with_ you. _Both of you.”_ Raven’s eyes darted towards the stairs. “We’re in this together; all of us.”

“Bellamy’s not going to like it.”

“Good thing I don’t listen to a word he says anyways,” Murphy said.

Clarke let out a watery laugh. 

.

All she wanted to do was chase after Bellamy, to make sure he was okay.

She didn’t.

Instead, she gave him space.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Diyoza was stiff. Raven and Murphy were silent. Clarke could barely keep food down. Bellamy’s seat was empty.

She glanced at the kitchen door again, hoping that this time would give her a different result. _It didn’t._ The door stayed shut. Bellamy’s seat remained empty.

She forced her eyes back to her plate and poked at her potatoes. She was worried about him and couldn’t stop thinking about him. She wondered what he was thinking in that moment. Was he formulating plans to break into Hogwarts? Was he screaming with rage? Was he falling apart, his heart shattered with the news?

Clarke glanced at the door again.

_No Bellamy._

She knew he was going to be taking the news hard. When he learned that Octavia was alive and at Hogwarts, they weren’t on the best speaking terms, but she knew the news destroyed him. It took him weeks to process.

 _What about now?_ Now that he knew she was hurt and _getting_ hurt? Now that he knew she was in danger, that she was fighting back against people that wanted her dead?

Once again, she glanced towards the hallway. She tried to ignore the disappointment and concern rising in her.

Diyoza was the one to break the thick silence. “Maybe one of you should go check on Blake?” Her eyes swept between Clarke and Raven. “He should eat.” When nobody spoke, her jaw clenched. “Reyes, why don’t you make him a plate?”

“I’m sure he’s not hungry,” Clarke responded tightly.

Diyoza lifted an eyebrow at Raven. “Now, Reyes.”

Clarke’s grip on her fork tightened and she turned back to her own potatoes. Maybe Diyoza was right; maybe Bellamy would need to talk to Raven. When they first arrived at Diyoza’s safe house, Raven was the one he turned to for comfort; Raven was the one he needed at his side; Raven was the one to help him process what he learned about Octavia.

She tried to fight the jealousy rising in her. She had a lot of flaws, but this was one she hated the most. All Clarke wanted was for Bellamy to be okay; she shouldn’t care who helped him.

_She didn’t care._

Except, she did. Just a tiny bit. 

She respected the fact Raven shared a special connection with him — one that she never would — but she couldn’t deny the fact that it hurt.

When Raven returned a few minutes later, the plate of Bellamy’s food still in hand, the concern Clarke felt intensified.

“He didn’t answer the door,” she explained. She dropped the plate to the table and slid into her seat.

Clarke tried to keep her expression blank, but she was failing. It would take a lot to hide the worry consuming her in that moment. All she could think about was Bellamy. He was up there all alone, going through something she couldn’t fathom.

 _He shouldn’t have to be alone._ Even if he turned away everyone that came to him, he deserved to know people cared about him and were thinking about him.

She stood from her seat abruptly. Diyoza’s gaze burned against the side of her face. She pointedly avoided her.

“I’m going to check on him,” she announced. “Murphy, can you take over dishes tonight if I’m not back?”

She expected him to retort with something dry, or for him to attempt and negotiate a trade. What she _didn’t_ expect was for him to nod without hesitation and agree.

He must care more about Bellamy than he let on.

Clarke grabbed the plate of food and made her way upstairs. She _really_ didn’t think he’d be hungry, but it was worth a shot. Diyoza was right; he should eat something. 

She wasn’t sure what she could say to him to help. He’d need time and space, both of which she couldn’t give him outright. They were all trapped in a small house together and, as they all knew, time stopped for nobody.

Clarke stood outside his door for a long minute, listening for any movements inside. She couldn’t hear him at all, not even the shift of the floorboards. For a moment, she was convinced he climbed out of his window and went to save his sister, but—

“I told you, Raven, I’m not hungry.” His voice was hoarse from beyond the door. Her heart leapt to her throat. “Go away.”

She stepped forward, her hand coming to rest on the wood panelling of the door. Her heart pounded in her chest; not out of fright like it did earlier, but out of her anguish over what he must’ve been feeling. She hurt _for_ him.

“It’s not Raven,” she said, her voice soft. Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s me.”

A pause, and then—

“Clarke?”

She nearly sobbed at how defeated he sounded. He sounded so broken, so lost, so _hurt._

“It’s me.” She forced her voice to remain steady. _She’d stay strong for him._ He’d need someone to lean on. _He_ was that person for her so many times, now it was her turn to be there for him. “Can I come in?”

She strained her ears to hear him on the other side of the door. She heard the rustle of the sheets on his bed before he responded. “Yes please.”

Clarke took a beat to compose herself before entering his room. The light from the hallway allowed her to see in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Bellamy sat on the edge of his bed, the heels of his hands pressed tight against his eyes. While she couldn’t see his expression, she knew exactly how he was feeling by the way his shoulders slumped and the way his lips curled.

He was tearing himself apart.

“Hi,” she said. “I brought food if you want.”

“‘M not hungry.”

She shut the door behind her, sealing them in darkness. She could see his silhouette across the room thanks to the moonlight, but nothing else.

“I didn’t think so.” She ached to be beside him, to try and comfort him. She knew nothing she could do could take away his pain, but she wanted to try. She wanted to help.

Almost as if he could read her mind, he pulled his hands away from his eyes and turned to her. “Can you come here please?”

She had no intentions of denying his request.

Clarke navigated her way across the room in the dark, trusting her memory to lead her to his bedside. Her outstretched hand connected with his bedpost and she used the edge of his mattress to guide her the remaining distance.

Bellamy’s eyes were more adjusted to the dark than hers were and he reached for her. His hand touched her forearm quickly, his touch light and fast. It was enough for her to get her bearings again.

She placed the plate of food on his nightstand before she reached for him. As soon as she did, she felt the last strands of her strength begin to fracture.

“Clarke,” he said simply, but it was enough to cause a lump to rise in her throat.

“Hey.” She stepped between his legs and brushed her hands through his hair. “I’m here.”

_That was enough to break him._

She could _feel_ rather than hear his sob. The intensity of it shook his whole body. 

It felt like a knife to the heart.

He pressed his face to her middle and _sobbed._ His arms wound around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His cries were muffled against her shirt, his tears soaking through the material.

Clarke held him tightly and struggled to keep her composure. Her chin trembled and her throat constricted.

_She wished she could take away all his pain, all his guilt, all his anguish._

_But she couldn’t._

All she could do was hold him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice wavering. Clarke threaded her fingers through his hair, desperate to do anything to soothe him. She hoped that her arms were just as much of a home to him as his were to her. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

“I’m scared.” His voice shook, as if he was barely hanging onto his composure. “I feel like I’m losing her, like I already lost her, and _I don’t— I don’t want to lose her._ I don’t— I can’t— I—”

Clarke sunk to the bed beside him, keeping her arms around him. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, his sobs making her chest cave in over and over. She whispered soft words of comfort against his curls and ran her hand along his back.

 _It wasn’t enough._ She knew it wasn’t going to be — she knew the only thing that would soothe Bellamy was Octavia’s safety, and that was something she couldn’t give nor promise.

“I’m here,” she told him, her voice thick with unshed tears. _That_ was the only thing she could promise him. “I’m here.”

“It hurts,” Bellamy sobbed.

Clarke’s heart cracked in two at that. She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore.

She clung to him as tightly as he clung to her. She would’ve gladly taken away all his pain and bore it herself. She would’ve done _anything_ to do that for him, to keep the hurt away.

“It hurts,” he said again, his voice more broken than before.

“I know.” She buried her nose against the top of his head and sucked in several deep breaths. “I know, Bellamy.”

His fingers curled around the material of her shirt, holding her as close as physically possible.

Clarke knew heartbreak well, but this was something new entirely. It felt like her whole _soul_ was shattering alongside his. It felt like she was breaking away piece by piece; each sob ripping another piece away.

_It was torture, watching him fall apart with grief._

Her heart tugged when he struggled to breathe between his sobs. His body shuddered. Her heart broke.

When Bellamy started shaking, Clarke reached for his blanket and pulled it around both of their shoulders. There was a safety and comfort in being wrapped together like this, as if the thin blanket was a shield from the rest of the world. It reminded her of when she was a child, and how she hid under the blankets to keep the monsters away.

The monsters could tear through the fabric, and the pain of reality could too.

“Clarke,” he cried, his words broken and pleading.

_She wished she could help._

“We’ll figure it out,” she promised him. “It’ll be okay.”

While she couldn’t promise him that they’d succeed in their mission, she could promise him this. No matter what the outcome was, things would be okay.

Later, when his sobs died down, they curled against each other in bed. Clarke’s body hung awkwardly off the edge, his bed not big enough for both of them to fit comfortably. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

All she cared about was him.

_You’re okay. I’m here. You’re safe. I’m here._

“Can you stay with me tonight?” he asked, his voice hoarse from his sobs. His body still shook against hers and his voice sounded so unsure.

“Of course.” She tugged her sweater off her body, having to awkwardly arch herself so she didn’t have to sit up to do so. “I’ll stay with you as long as you want.”

“What about Diyoza? The rules?”

Clarke pressed a kiss to his temple. “There’s no rule about sharing beds.”

“And Murphy?”

“There’s a perfectly good bed across the hall or couch in the living room.” She draped her arm across his middle and held him tightly. She knew she couldn’t take away his pain, but she knew being held would help, even if only slightly. “Try to sleep.”

He pressed his nose against her neck and inhaled. She felt the sudders subside and his heart rate slow. She pressed another kiss to his head.

_They didn’t sleep much that night._

* * *

_March 5, 1998_

“That would work,” Clarke agreed, leaning forward. She wrote a few notes on the sheet spread across the coffee table. “That’s why Bellamy and I decided to break into Hogwarts during winter break; the fewer students in the building, the better chances we have.”

“Easter is still far away,” Bellamy pointed out. His leg bounced up and down, showing his nerves. He wanted to go for Octavia now, not wait a month.

“It’s far away, but that’ll be our best chance,” Raven said. She offered him a smile. “She’s survived for as long as she has; she can handle a few more weeks.”

They were spread around the living room, a distant echo to all the days they spent practicing their Patronus charms. The warmth and lightness in the atmosphere had all but vanished since then. Even Murphy could sense the seriousness and hadn’t tried to lighten the mood with jokes.

After Clarke had convinced Bellamy to return to the safe house the night before, the atmosphere in the house had shifted. The darkness felt heavier, the chaos and death beyond their doors felt closer, their future felt more uncertain.

 _Octavia was in danger._ She always had been, but it was undeniable now that her actions were being broadcast on Potterwatch. _Octavia was in danger, and Bellamy couldn’t do anything about it._

He hated it. She knew he hated it. She knew him, and she knew he was willing to do anything to get her back. He was willing to risk everything to protect his sister, even if that meant charging into a fight he was destined to lose. 

He didn’t care.

Bellamy wanted to charge into Hogwarts, his wand drawn, the odds against him, and no plan in place.

It would’ve been an admirable trait, if it didn’t mean he was willing to die for people he loved. She might’ve admired his bravery if it didn’t mean he was reckless.

_All she wanted was to keep him safe._

Logiclly, she knew she couldn’t.

_But, with him, emotion won out._

While he was willing to do anything to save Octavia, she would be willing to do anything to save him.

“Great,” Murphy muttered. “We have a general time period of when we want to do this thing, but nothing else. I wouldn’t go so far and call this a plan.”

“It isn’t a plan,” Clarke said. “Not yet, at least.”

Murphy was right. They had a lot of details to figure out. Planning for their first infiltration of Hogwarts took hours and _weeks_ of preparation. 

“And what about Professor McGonagall?” Raven asked. “You’re sure she won’t be able to help?”

“Considering she made a special trip to inform us that we’re being abandoned, no.”

Clarke gave Murphy a hard look. “Listen, I’m not very happy with it either, but she didn’t say that. She’s being watched. She’s not able to visit us or stay in communication with us, which means we won’t be able to provide any more intel to her. We aren’t being abandoned.” She turned to Raven. “Murphy’s right, though. She won’t be able to help us. We won’t be able to contact her for weeks, at the very least. If she’s being watched, she won’t be able to do much.”

“Too bad,” Raven pointed out. “She could’ve just sent us Octavia via floo and we all could’ve called it a day.”

“You don’t have to come,” Bellamy pointed out, his voice clipped. “I’m not asking you to. If I remember correctly, you’re the one—”

“I’m coming,” Raven replied, her voice just as heated as his. “I’m just saying that it would’ve been easier with McGonagall’s help. I wasn’t implying anything else.”

Clarke glanced back and forth between Raven and Bellamy. The tensions were high between all of them, especially those two. Bellamy struggled to accept _her_ help, never mind Raven and Murphy’s. He didn’t want to put more people in danger, and she understood that.

 _But he wasn’t putting them in danger._ He didn’t ask them to come; they volunteered. They cared about him and wanted to help him.

She wished he understood that.

“Let’s take a break,” Clarke suggested tentatively. “We have a general date set; Easter weekend. That gives us time to plan. We don’t need to do it today.”

Bellamy’s hard gaze turned to her. “But—”

“Thank Merlin,” Murphy muttered. He pushed off the couch and beelined for the hallway. “You all are insufferable.”

Clarke squeezed his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

_It was a feeble attempt._

* * *

_March 8, 1998_

Diyoza was leaving.

It would be odd not having her around the house, but it made sense. Ever since Clarke and Bellamy arrived, she hadn’t been splitting her time equally between her two houses. Now, apparently, she felt everyone was well adjusted here, which allowed her to retake her previous schedule.

“Be safe,” Diyoza said, a backpack slung over her shoulder. Murphy, Raven, Clarke and Bellamy stood around her in front of the floo to say their last goodbyes. She pointed at Murphy. “No new recipes, okay? I don’t need this house to burn down while I’m gone.”

“That was _one time._ And the house didn’t burn down, per se.” Murphy grinned and Diyoza rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll bore these three with toast and jam for the next two weeks.”

“Do I have to remind you not to burn the toast?” Diyoza pressed. “Reyes, you’re in charge of making sure he doesn’t set my kitchen on fire.”

“Got it.”

“I’m sure you’ll miss my burnt toast. I know you love it.”

She scowled. “Just like you loved me serving you expired milk that one time, right?”

Diyoza and Murphy laughed at that. 

They shared a bond Clarke couldn’t wrap her head around, and it reminded her of Raven’s bond with Kane. While McGonagall saved Clarke’s life and gave her direction when she was lost, Diyoza did the same with Murphy. She took him in when he had just left his family. Seeing how much he changed from the man she knew from Hogwarts, she couldn’t imagine how much guidance and support Diyoza gave him over the months.

After Raven said her goodbyes, she turned to them. Diyoza smiled.

“I hope things work out, just in case we don’t see each other before your mission,” she told them.

“We’ll see each other,” Clarke promised her. She was certain of that.

WIth a final nod, Diyoza stepped towards the roaring green flames. “Take care of each other. There’s a lot of paperwork I need to do if one of you dies.”

Yeah. Clarke was going to miss Diyoza and her dark humour.

* * *

_March 9, 1998_

Clarke woke up with a kink in her neck and Bellamy’s elbow in her ribs.

_Ow._

She groggily pushed away from him and stretched, trying to work the pain out of her joints. She couldn’t move far enough away from Bellamy and ended up punching him in the jaw as she stretched.

He jolted awake.

“Shit. Sorry.” She inched away from him, careful not to tip off the edge of the couch. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Or hit you.”

Although, it was nearly impossible to breathe when they fell asleep beside each other on the couch.

“Mmm, not the awakening I was hoping for,” Bellamy said. His hair stuck up in every odd direction and the pattern of the couch cushion was indebted into his face. “But good morning.”

Clarke stood up, her joints popping as she moved. She grimaced. “I don’t think the couch is working.”

That was an understatement. 

Just as she finished stretching out her back, Murphy walked in the room, a wooden spoon in his hand. He looked smug.

“There’s my two love birds,” he teased. Clarke flipped him off. She wasn’t in the mood to play with him. “Aw, someone’s a little grouchy?”

“Sharing a single couch with someone is _not_ romantic or comfortable. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Murphy snorted and sunk to the free chair in the corner of the room. “I could’ve told you that last week when you two first started sneaking down here.” Clarke narrowed her eyes. “You two aren’t stealthy. Sorry.” _He wasn’t sorry._ “I’m assuming it’s the appeal of breaking rules and sneaking around that makes you two keep doing it.” Murphy twirled the spoon in his hands. His eyes flicked coolly between the two of them. “You know, like… danger and secrecy make it sexy or something.”

“Please,” Bellamy groaned, “please don’t be having some sort of sex talk with us. We already received one from Diyoza and I’m not looking for a repeat.”

“Oh, you can leave whenever you want, boo.” Murphy gave him a shit-eating grin. “I’m talking to Clarke.” Bellamy sunk further into the couch and pressed his fingers to his temple. “Point is, you are aware Diyoza isn’t home anymore, right? Her rules are kind of out the window. You two don’t have to sneak out of your rooms at night and sleep on this _horrible_ old lady couch.”

Clarke glanced at the couch. “It’s not old lady.”

“It has a floral pattern. It’s old lady.” Murphy waved his hand in dismissal. “Not the point. I’m trying to tell you guys that you two can just have the room.”

Clarke stilled. “What?”

Murphy shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t care. I’ll take your bed and you two can just have my room.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you two _want_ to keep sleeping on the couch?”

“No,” she answered quickly. Murphy openly smirked. “I just… Are you sure?”

“What about Raven? Does she care?”

Murphy faced the hall. “Reyes! Wanna bunk up?!”

“With you?” She rounded the corner and pretended to think about it. “I don’t know, Murphy, you snore.”

“Only when someone annoys me. It’s my favourite form of punishment.”

Raven rolled her eyes fondly. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” She turned her gaze to Clarke and Bellamy. “Just, for the love of Merlin, please use silencing charms.”

She left the room and Murphy turned to them, his hands spread and his smile wide. “See? Easy.”

Clarke’s arm cracked as she stretched. _She hated the couch._

* * *

_March 13, 1998_

Clarke’s hastily written notes were spread across the kitchen table. The kettle whistled from the stovetop across the room, but they were so engaged in conversation that they didn’t want to leave the table.

“It _has_ to be on Saturday.”

“Saturday is a bad day. That’s the quietest day, they’ll know if something happens.”

“Exactly; Saturday is the quietest day. That means there will be less people around, which means less chance of this going wrong.”

“We should do it Thursday. That’s the day the students are being moved, right? With the extra traffic, they won’t notice us slipping in.”

“Good idea, Raven — that is if you want us to get caught and killed. Security is going to be _ridiculous_ then.”

“But—”

Clarke grabbed her wand and levitated the kettle off the stove, hushing the whistle. Raven and Bellamy continued to bicker back and forth about which day would make the most sense to break into Hogwarts.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“Yeah, I do. I did this once before.”

“Right. Except, _you_ didn’t actually do this before. _Clarke_ did. You—”

Clarke gave Raven a hard look. “Can we not bring that up?”

She held her hands up in innocence. “I’m just saying. Am I wrong? Clarke’s the only one here who’s been in Hogwarts recently. She’s the only one—”

“But _I_ planned that with her,” Bellamy said crossly. His jaw twitched. “It was _our_ plan that worked. We know what we’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but—”

“I liked Clarke’s idea about Saturday,” Murphy interjected. He leaned forward, a Muggle pen in hand, and scribbled on her notes.

_SATURDAY._

“There. Problem solved.” He dropped the pen to the table and curled his lips. “Can we stop arguing? We have a job to do.”

“This might be just a _job_ to you, but this is actually important to me,” Bellamy countered. “So, how about—”

Clarke placed her hand on top of their plans and blew out a long breath. “Enough. Bellamy, you know that isn’t what Murphy meant. Raven, you’re bringing up good ideas, so _let’s discuss them._ Civilly.” She locked eyes with Bellamy. “Okay?”

Murphy kicked back in his seat. “I didn’t write Saturday for the hell of it. Saturday is the best day. Thursday will have too many people moving, it’ll be hard to plan. Friday might work, but professors are still expected to be on campus until the end of the day, so that’ll be hard to work around. Sunday is Easter festivities, so there’s bound to be some movement inside. Saturday is the only day that is _supposed_ to be quiet.” He turned to Raven. “Do you disagree?”

She pursed her lips. “You have good points.”

Murphy was satisfied with her answer and turned to Bellamy. “And you? Do you disagree?”

“Sunday might be—”

“It’ll be busy. You probably went home for Easter, didn’t you?” Murphy pressed. “You had a family to celebrate with.”

“Yeah, I went home during breaks.”

“So did I,” Clarke admitted.

“And Raven? You left too, didn’t you?” She nodded. “Okay. Well, I didn’t. I stayed. Every year, every break. I know this weekend. It’s stupid quiet, more so than Christmas. Even the people that usually stay at Hogwarts for Christmas will have made a friend between then and Easter, and they’ll go stay with their family for the weekend.” He underlined Saturday on the page. “Saturday is our best bet. Nobody’s around. Once, I drank fire whiskey in the Great Hall and nobody noticed. Another time, I dared a friend to run through the castle starkers. _We’ll be fine._ Trust me.”

Bellamy hesitated a second before nodding. “Fine. Saturday.”

With that settled, they moved onto further details of the plan. The Saturday during Easter break was April 11th, meaning they had just under a month to figure out the details. She knew Bellamy wanted to figure them out sooner rather than later.

“We _might_ have time to brew a batch of Polyjuice,” Raven determined, studying the dates. “It depends on the cauldron type and the freshness of ingredients. If we—”

“No Polyjuice,” Clarke stated.

“You used it the first time. That’s what made the last mission successful — they didn’t know who you were.” Raven looked confused. “Do you think they’ll just let us walk into Hogwarts and _take_ a student? I doubt it.”

“I doubt it too, but that’s not what I’m implying. The reason we used Polyjuice the first time was because we had different goals. Last time, we needed to get in and out undetected. This time, it doesn’t matter. They’ll know we were there because a student will be missing. There’s no point in trying to be stealthy about it.”

“Fine, but what about getting in?” Raven pressed. “How are we supposed to get into the school without alerting Death Eaters? They won’t just let us walk in.”

Murphy agreed. “Polyjuice might be helpful for getting in.”

“We don’t have time to get ingredients,” Bellamy said. “The last time Clarke and I went to Diagon Alley, the apothecary was closed. And we burnt down the one in Knockturn Alley.”

Murphy laughed. “Fucking hell.”

“We don’t have any other option for getting ingredients. Unless Diyoza has them laying around?”

“No, she doesn’t keep many magical things around the house to begin with, but especially not raw potion ingredients.” Murphy sighed. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Too bad McGonagall bailed on us.”

Clarke didn’t agree with his statement, but the sentiment was true. This would’ve been a lot easier with inside help.

“Well, how did the Death Eaters get in last year?” Bellamy asked. “Malfoy let in all those Death Eaters and killed Dumbledore. If he could get them around all the Order’s security, we can do the same and get around the Death Eaters.”

“I don’t know,” Raven admitted. She stood from the chair. “I’ll do some research. Maybe there’s something in _Hogwarts: A History_ that will help.”

Murphy snorted. “You’ve read that book a dozen times over.”

“And I learn something new every time.” She glanced at Bellamy. “We’ll figure something out. Just give me a bit of time.” Her gaze swept to Clarke. “Okay?”

Considering they had one month until the mission, they had time.

Clarke nodded. “Okay. We’ll all try to come up with a few options and discuss again later.”

With half of a plan and simmering tension, Clarke decided that this meeting was a success.

* * *

_March 18, 1998_

Clarke was _killing_ it at Mario Kart.

The control for the N64 was like nothing she had ever seen before. Sure, she watched Bellamy play video games before, but it was so different with _her_ being in control of the Muggle television.

“Ha!” Clarke crossed the finish line on the rainbow racetrack and flung her arms up in victory. She turned to Bellamy, her smile smug. “I won!”

His expression was twisted with concentration. His lips pinched together as he drove his kart off the edge of the road. “Fuck.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his leg and grinned up at him. He snuck a glance at her and rolled his eyes teasingly. “This is why you lost. You can’t keep your eyes on the screen.”

Sure enough, as soon as she finished speaking, Bellamy drove his kart off the edge again.

“Merlin, let’s be glad this is just a video game and not real life,” Clarke quipped. “If you drove a vehicle, I’m sure you would’ve hit someone by now.”

“Only if you’re in the passenger seat. I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes off of you,” he responded teasingly. He tossed his controller to the side and slid down to sit on the ground beside her. The playfulness drained away, leaving behind warmth and love.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

The kiss they shared was shallow, a sweet brush of their lips. She beamed at him when they parted.

He stared at her for a long moment before laughing. “You know, I almost miss you being oblivious to all things Muggle.”

She pulled away from him with a gasp. She tried to hide her smile. “What?”

“It’s just… You know Muggle transportation is called a vehicles or cars, not metal horses. You know how to play video games. You know it’s called electricity. It’s so different.”

“You _miss_ me not knowing what anything is?” she questioned, her facade breaking. She couldn’t hide her smile anymore. “Because I sure as hell don’t miss being confused all of the time.”

She thought back to her first time visiting the Muggle world and realizing how different everything was. She thought back to figuring out how to live in Kane’s house, and, later, trying to survive in Muggle London.

She didn’t know anything about living in the Muggle world. Without Bellamy, she doubted she would’ve figured it out either.

“No, I’m glad you’re not confused anymore. I just… Things were so different back then. It was fun teaching you how to cook and how to use Muggle television.” He rested his head against the couch, but didn’t take his eyes off of her. “That’s how we first really started to get to know each other.”

“Do you remember teaching me about Muggle movies?” Clarke asked. A warmth blossomed across her chest as she recalled the memory.

“You fell asleep.”

“And you brought me a blanket.”

“I love how you’ve settled into the Muggle world, I really do, but it’s strange to think about sometimes.”

Clarke laughed. “It’s strange for me too. If only thirteen-year-old Clarke could see me now, living in the Muggle world like it’s her home.” Her smile softened. “It _is_ my home.”

More accurately, _he_ was her home.

Bellamy drove his kart off the edge of the road several more times as they sat. 

“You miss me not knowing Muggle things because I kick your ass too often,” she commented.

“You figured it out. I wish I could still beat you at video games, that’s it,” Bellamy teased.

Clarke rested her cheek against his shoulder and watched, too content to do anything else.

* * *

_March 20, 1998_

Clarke promised Bellamy she’d come to bed after she finished the last chapter of her book, but _she couldn’t._

In the darkness and silence of the house, she felt stronger — braver — more sure. She clutched her wand in her hands, a soft glow coming from the tip of it. The pages were familiar against her skin; worn, creased, filled with words that made her want to bash her head against the wall.

_She was going to perform the Patronus Charm — no matter what._

She really didn’t need to reread the page on the Patronus Charm; she had it memorized for weeks already. There was a calming familiarity of the text though, grounding her to the moment.

 _Think of a memory._ This was where she had trouble last time. Which memory from her life was the happiest? When had she been so happy that it felt like she was going to burst?

 _She thought of Bellamy._ He was the first one to come to mind. _Not her mother, not her old friends, not even those that she shared the safe house with._

Bellamy.

He certainly made her _feel_ like she was glowing like the sun. The warmth that filled her chest whenever they were together felt like it could fight off Dementors and the darkness.

Her eyes slid closed and she focused on the feeling of the wood against her skin. Her heart pounded in her chest with anticipation. Her mouth was unbearably dry. Her—

“Thank fuck. It was either you down here, a really civilized wild animal, or we were getting robbed.”

Clarke jolted and pointed her wand towards the doorway. Murphy stood in the threshold, a soft glow coming from his wand at his side. Her heart raced and she blew out a long breath. When she realized it wasn’t a threat, she lowered her wand.

“You scared me,” she said.

“You scared me first.” He flopped to the couch opposite of hers and extinguished the blue light from his wand. The moonlight spilling between the curtains cast shadows along his face. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“But I asked you first.”

Clarke laughed and relaxed into the couch. Her wand was cool against her leg. “I’m trying to practice my Patronus.”

He clicked his tongue. “Still having trouble?”

“Clearly.”

Murphy spun his wand in his fingers and grew pensive. “Same here. I don’t… I don’t know what it is. I can’t do it, no matter what I do. It’s frustrating.”

She felt better knowing she wasn’t alone with her struggles. 

“I’ve tried everything I can think of,” she admitted. “I’ve been practicing and practicing and _practicing._ But… nothing.”

“It’s bullshit.”

“Bellamy keeps telling me that it's because its complicated magic,” Clarke said. Her lips twisted sourly. “I appreciate the fact he’s trying to make me feel better, but… Him saying that is implying I’m lacking in ability — that I’m not a good enough witch.”

Murphy’s movements slowed. “He doesn’t mean it like that. I don’t exactly _like_ the guy, but he wouldn’t mean it like that.”

Clarke bit back her comment about Murphy not liking him. It was so painfully clear that they cared about each other in a strange sort of way.

“I know he doesn’t mean it like that,” she said. “But… I know I’m strong enough. I know I can do it. I know it doesn’t have anything to do with my magical ability.” She studied Murphy in the moonlight. “Do you know what wandless magic is?”

“Apart from the fact that all the details are in the name? Yeah, I’ve heard of it before. It’s complicated and rare. My father could do a bit of it.” She hummed in acknowledgement and sat up straighter. 

Without further explanation, she stretched her hand in his direction and closed her eyes. She thought of the throw pillow at his side. How the feathers poked through the fabric and stabbed her skin if she leaned on it the wrong way. How the cloth brushed against her fingertips. How the stuffing molded to her touch.

_“Accio.”_

Murphy let out a startled yelp when the pillow shot out from under his arm and flew into Clarke’s grasp. The feeling of the cloth was familiar to her touch.

“Holy fuck.”

Clarke reopened her eyes and couldn’t stop the smile from growing on her lips. “Yeah. So. I can do that.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I’ve been practicing for a while. At first it was just my wand, but slowly… It’s growing to other things, too.”

“Holy fuck.”

Clarke laughed. “You good?”

He gaped at her. “I just— I mean— wow.”

“I need to be familiar with the object,” she explained. “The idea occurred to me when I managed to summon my favourite jumper from Griffin Manor. I had to _really_ think about the fabric and the details for it to work. After I managed to do that, I applied it to wandless magic and… Yeah.” She tossed the pillow back at Murphy. “The point is; I can do that, but not a Patronus.”

“Fuck.” Murphy studied the pillow for a moment before tossing it to the side. “You can do wandless magic _and_ advanced summoning? Merlin.”

“You’re not making me feel better,” she pointed out.

“Oh? You came to me to make you feel better? That was your first mistake.” Clarke laughed. “That’s impressive.”

“And yet no Patronus, no matter how hard I try. Shouldn’t that be easier than those things?” She fell back into the couch, knowing Murphy didn’t have all of the answers. _Or any of the answers,_ really. Clarke let out a humourless laugh and rubbed her eyes. “I’m going to ask you something. Can you be truthful with me?”

“Depends.”

Clarke locked eyes with him and blew out a long breath. “Have you ever killed someone?”

 _That_ sucked the air from the room.

Clarke watched his expression shift. His shoulders tensed, his face fell, his jaw clenched.

He didn’t need to speak for her to know the answer.

“I have,” she continued. Her throat tightened as she thought back to that day. “After the failed Knockturn Alley mission — the one I mentioned the other day. I told you that I burned down the shop, which was true, but…” Clarke’s stomach twisted. “Death Eater’s cornered us and one followed us after we got out. I killed him.” She rolled her wand between her fingers nervously. “It was Jugson.”

Murphy nodded and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I have, too. Although, mine was not as heroic as yours.”

“Mine wasn’t heroic,” she argued. “Bellamy and I lived, yeah, but _he_ didn’t. There’s nothing heroic about it. It was horrible. It _is_ horrible.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, his tone tense. “If you think that’s horrible then wait until you hear what I did.” Clarke didn’t dare speak, too afraid that doing so would scare him away. “It was the night I left my family. My father had me on lockdown; I told you before, he said he’d rather have a dead son than a traitorous one, and _he meant it._ When I was trying to leave, I guess he had a few friends over, and…” He let out a long sigh. “We saw each other in the yard. I begged him to just let me pass, but then he was yelling for my father, and he had my elbow, and—”

He stopped talking.

Clarke knew how the story ended. It was an eerie echo of _her_ story.

“I couldn’t go back. If my father caught me after trying to escape, I was as good as dead. And, so… I killed him.” Murphy’s expression was grim and bitter. “I guess the war gained a few murderers from us, huh?”

Clarke’s heart jolted. “I guess so.”

Murphy stood from the couch and began pacing. She could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. The atmosphere of the room shifted abruptly.

“It’s so fucking unfair,” he said, his voice heated. “We’re not the only ones that have killed people either — we’re not the only ones our age. Hell, even kids _younger_ than us have had to do it, all thanks to this _fucking_ war. A lot of people younger than us have died too.”

Clarke didn’t interrupt him. She had a feeling this had been brewing inside of him for a long time and he needed to get it out.

“It’s horrible, and stupid, and— and— Fuck.” He spun to face her. “We’re all just pieces in their game. This war, this everything. We’re _people_ — we’re all _so young._ I’ve been having to deal with this shit for as long as I can remember. And for what? Because there’s people out there who think they’re better than others? Because there’s people out there who think they deserve to live more, or they deserve special privileges, _just because someone has different blood than them?_ Just because they come from a different world than they do? Because they have different blood?

“It’s fucked up. So many people have died because of this stupid mindset and these stupid prejudices. I’m sick of it.” He ran a hand down his face.

“Do you really think the Dark Lord gets his hands dirty in battle either? No. He gets other people to fight for him, he gets others to target and kill people that disgust him. He’s their _Dark fucking Lord_ — they worship him, and he doesn’t have a fuck about them. It makes no fucking sense.”

“I don’t understand it either,” she admitted. “My mother, your father… I don’t understand how they can be the way they are.”

Murphy’s hand flexed into a fist at his side. “My father… My father is an idiot. So is your mother. They follow Voldemort and it sickens—”

Clarke bolted upright as the house shook violently.

She felt the wards shifting around her, melting into nothingness, sucking the magic and protection from around them. Her skin prickled, her ears popped, a shiver ran down her spine as _everything changed._

_The wards._

She locked eyes with Murphy, horror grasping at her heart. Her eyes were wide. She struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to—

“What the fuck just happened?” Murphy asked, the anger and heat gone from his voice. He spun around wildly, panicked. “What the _fuck_ just—”

The dead of the night came alive with the distinct cracks of Apparition.

_They had been found._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Virtual high-fives to anyone who can guess what's going on at the end of the chapter!
> 
> AH. So. I know only three chapters are left, but I might extend that by a few. I'm playing with the ending of the fic now that it's here, and it might take a few more chapters to get through than originally anticipated. Sorry :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	33. Chapter 32: Metamorphoses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **LAST CHAPTER**   
>  _because it's been so long_
> 
> “I don’t understand it either,” she admitted. “My mother, your father… I don’t understand how they can be the way they are.”
> 
> Murphy’s hand flexed into a fist at his side. “My father… My father is an idiot. So is your mother. They follow Voldemort and it sickens—”
> 
> Clarke bolted upright as the house shook violently.
> 
> She felt the wards shifting around her, melting into nothingness, sucking the magic and protection from around them. Her skin prickled, her ears popped, a shiver ran down her spine as everything changed.
> 
> The wards.
> 
> She locked eyes with Murphy, horror grasping at her heart. Her eyes were wide. She struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to—
> 
> “What the fuck just happened?” Murphy asked, the anger and heat gone from his voice. He spun around wildly, panicked. “What the fuck just—”
> 
> The dead of the night came alive with the distinct cracks of Apparition.
> 
> They had been found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Since it's been so long, I attached the last lil bit of the chapter ^^. BUT if you don't remember what happened, feel free to scroll back and read a bit more. Basic summary: Murphy and Clarke were ranting in the living and the wards around Diyoza's safe house fell._
> 
> Cool cool. This chapter was a bitch. But it's fiiiiiiine. It's all good. I had a major block mid-way through, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out. This chapter was meant to be MUCH longer, but I realized I won't have much time to write this week, and I didn't want to keep you all waiting any longer so :) here it is!
> 
> You might notice I increased the expected number of chapters. Yeah. I suck at estimation. Sorry. This should be the actual number of chapters remaining, plus or minus one or two.
> 
> Warning: this chapter contains a panic attack. If you are not comfortable reading about this, please contact me, and I can send you the summary of the events from this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy.

**_BELLAMY_ **

_ March 20, 1998 _

There was a knock at his bedroom door. He pulled his arm off of his eyes and glanced towards the cracked door. 

It wasn’t Clarke like he hoped. 

He sighed and let his head fall back to the pillows behind him. “What do you want, Raven?”

“Can I come in?” She hovered in the hallway, looking nervous and unsure. 

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“We can talk tomorrow.” 

He knew he was being cruel, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was so frustrated — with her, with the mission, with everything.

Bellamy knew he shouldn’t take it out on Raven. She was so willing to help him, and all he did to repay her was snap back and argue.

Clarke liked to discuss fatal flaws. Maybe this was his; trying to pull away from people before they could get hurt.

That was really the heart of the issue, wasn’t it? That she volunteered to come to Hogwarts? That she was willing to risk her life for him, when she could stay back at the safe house and be fine?

“Murphy and Clarke are downstairs,” she said after a pause.

“Sure.”

Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek. Why the fuck couldn’t he just  _ talk  _ to her?

Raven sighed and pushed the door open. He flinched against the light from the hallway.

“I said go away.”

“And I don’t care.” Raven walked across his room and extinguished the light at the tip of her wand. “I hate this. Us being annoyed with each other. I know you don’t like me coming on the mission, but—“

He pushed the blankets from his body and sat on the edge of the bed. She flopped down beside him. 

“I care about you. And I know you’re going through a rough time right now. And I’m  _ sorry. _ I’m sorry about Octavia and I’m sorry that we’re fighting.”

Bellamy grimaced. “We aren’t fighting.”

“Sure.”

“We aren’t. We’re just… annoyed with each other.”

She laughed. “And that’s better?”

“I think so.” They let the silence stretch between them. Bellamy struggled to drop the hostilities. “I’m…  _ sorry.  _ Okay? I’m sorry we’re fighting.”

She bumped his shoulder with her own. “See? We  _ are  _ fighting.” Bellamy smiled. “I know you think you can do this alone, but you don’t have to. You have me, and Clarke, and Murphy. We’re all willing to do this. You’re not asking us to.”

He pulled away from her. “Yeah, but—“

“But nothing. I love you, Bellamy, even though we fight. Or… not-fight. Whatever you want to call it. I love you, and I’m not going to let you do this alone.”

His throat tightened with emotion.

“We’re a team, the four of us.  _ A family.  _ And we’ll be there together until the very end.”

Despite the emotion of the situation, he couldn’t resist from making a bitter remark.

“The end,” he echoed. “That might be a lot sooner than you think, especially if you come with me to get O.”

“I don’t mean until we die, Bellamy. I mean  _ until the end.  _ Whether that ending is marked by our deaths or the falling of You-Know-Who, I don’t know, but we’ll be together. We’ll be together after it, too.” She smiled at him. “I wouldn’t just leave my Quidditch buddy behind.”

Bellamy laughed and leaned into her side. “How reassuring.”

“I’m serious.” Raven couldn’t stop smiling. “And it’s supposed to be reassuring, jerk. I’m trying to tell you that I’m with you, through thick or thin.”

The playfulness drained away from him, being replaced with gratitude and appreciation. “I love you, too, Raven. Just the record.”

She laughed. “For the record. Merlin, why don’t you—“

Her words died abruptly. Her expression melted into one of horror — an expression he was so sure was mirrored on his face.

He felt the shift in magical energy around them. One minute, there was a constant hum of it, the next—

_ Nothing. _

“The wards,” Raven said immediately, coming to the conclusion faster than he did. She jumped from the bed, flying into action. “The wards are down.”

“What?” Bellamy followed suit and jumped after her. He grasped his wand tightly. His mind spiralled. “How?”

“I don’t know, I—“ 

_ He heard it. _

Beyond the walls of the house, the sharp cracks on Apparation echoed through the night. There were too many to count.

_ Clarke. _

She was the only thought on his mind when hell rained down around them.

An explosion rang out down the hall, towards the stairs. He heard shouting from the street — so many voices overlapping. The room came alight with flashes of greens and reds from the street below.

Bellamy moved without thought. He raced for the bedroom door, his heart pounding, his mind buzzing. 

The world quieted to a distant roar. 

_ Clarke. He needed to get to Clarke. _

“Fuck!” Raven shoved his shoulder, throwing him off course. Her eyes were wild. Her mouth was moving, like she was saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words.

His blood rushed through his ears like a drum. Her heart hammered against his chest. His hands shook at his sides.

“What are you doing!?” Raven screamed. She kept a tight hold on his sleeve. 

“The others!” It was hard to hear his own voice over the roar of the battle below them. Spells crackled, wood splintered, people were shouting. He tugged against Raven’s hold. “Get off me. I have to— I— Clarke!”

Bellamy broke free from Raven’s grasp and surged into the hallway. Flashing was coming from the base of the stairs. His heart was in his throat.

_ No. _

Clarke was down there.

Clarke was down there, and—

“We have to go.” Raven roughly grabbed Bellamy again, preventing him from moving any further. Her chest heaved, her eyes darted, her whole body tensed. “Bellamy,  _ come on.  _ We have to—“

“Clarke!” he shouted. He strained his ears to hear her below. “Clarke! Clar—“

Raven shot him with a silencing spell and rushed to stand in front of him.

_ “Fuck you,”  _ he wanted to scream.  _ “Don’t you dare—” _

“We’re leaving,” she said crossly. “We have seconds before they raise their own anti-Apparation wards, and then we’re as good as dead.”

He didn’t care.

Clarke was down there, he needed to get to her, he needed to—

Before he could tug away from her, she twisted on the spot, pulling them through the freshly broken wards.

When the world stopped spinning around him, he nearly got sick.

Bellamy wrenched his arm away from Raven’s grasp and stumbled away from her. He turned to her, his wand raised, fire in his eyes.

“What the fuck,” he breathed, his anger stealing the force behind his words. He blinked owlishly. His mind was sluggish. “Raven, what the fuck—” 

“Stop,” she begged. Her expression was unreadable. The fire in  _ her  _ eyes rivaled his.

Bellamy was spiralling.  _ Clarke.  _ Clarke was back at the house. She was in danger.  _ He left her. _

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped. He took several large steps away from her. His gaze darted to their surroundings, soaking up all the details. Raven stepped closer, her arm outstretched. “Raven, I mean it.”

“Bellamy—”

His mind raced through the possibilities. His balance was thrown, having been surrounded by screaming and snapping spells only minutes before.

They were somewhere rural. He didn’t recognize it. Where were they?

They were standing alongside a pitch-black gravel road, soft beds of grass below their bare feet. The only building around them was a simple farmhouse just up the road. The grassy fields surrounding them were tall — reaching to the sky’s past the top of his head.

He was suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe.

The sky stretched out above him, but  _ he couldn’t breathe. _

_ Clarke. _

Raven was saying something, but he couldn’t hear.

_ Clarke.  _ All he could think about was her. Fear was spreading like poison in the blood. 

No. No, no, no, no—

He was descending into panic. Falling; quickly, quickly, quickly.

_ Gone. He was gone. _

_ Clarke. _

“Bellamy, stop!”

He surged forward and broke into a sprint, racing down the gravel road.

_ Running. Running, running, running _ —

Where?

He didn’t know.

_ Clarke. _

No.

His thoughts were fragmented. A numbness was creeping up from the pit of his stomach, worming its way to every inch of his body. He was shaking. His vision was tilting.

Still functioning purely on adrenaline, he moved faster than he ever had in his life.

His feet pounded against the ground. His breathing was ragged.

_ In. _

_ Out. _

_ In. _

_ Out. _

_ In. _

_ Ou— _

“BELLAMY!”

_ —t. _

He gripped his wand in his hand, the wood hot beneath his fingers. The air was crisp around him. 

He needed to get to Clarke. Diyoza’s. He needed to get to Diyoza’s, to get to—

He was knocked to the ground.

Raven tackled him in the middle, sending both of them flying. When Bellamy hit the ground, his breath was knocked from his chest abruptly. He gasped for air. They rolled over each other, tumbling to the ground in a mess of tangled limbs. Her elbow dug into his ribs. His shoulder hurt from where it connected to the ground. Wetness from the earth below them soaked into the back of his sleep clothes.

Before the world stopped spinning around him, Raven pinned him to the ground. Her face blocked the moon from hitting his eyes. She was  _ livid.  _ He couldn’t recall a time where she looked so forceful, looked so intense and terrifying. Her expression was so shocking that he froze, his mind growing silent.

_ Fuck. _

“Snap out of it.” Raven hissed, her eyes boring into his. Her fingers were tight on his wrists, holding them to his sides. “We’re exposed. We have to move.” She lifted her head, the heat in her glare slipping away. She looked concerned and that made Bellamy pause. “We can’t stop longer than we have already. We need to keep going.”

“But—”

Her steel cold eyes focused on his again. “ _ Listen,  _ Bellamy. We were attacked. Alright? The wards were broken.”

A flash of worry and rage surged through him. He ached for Clarke. “I  _ know,  _ fuck.  _ Get off of me.” _

She didn’t budge. “Someone broke the taboo. Diyoza’s is compromised. The safe house has fallen. We—”

_ That  _ was enough for Bellamy to see red.

He kicked off the ground, sending them tumbling once again. When they righted themselves a few feet over,  _ he  _ was the one pinning Raven to the ground. She struggled against his grip, her lips pulled tight.

“Clarke is—”

“Enough about Clarke!” Raven pushed him off of her. She hauled herself to her knees, leaving a wide gap between them. Their chests heaved. Bellamy’s mind swam. “We have to stick to the plan. We have to—”

“Don’t tell me what I have to do.” Bellamy reached for his wand pocket, full intentions to Apparate the fuck out of there, and—

It was empty.

Raven raised her hand, showing off his wand. Her expression was cold. “Listen—”

“Raven—”

“I’m fucking serious.”

“Clarke is—”

“Clarke isn’t here, is she!?” He fought to keep his chest from caving in on those words. He fought to keep the facade up — he fought to keep the anger at the forefront.  _ Because anything after that — the hurt, the fear, the worry — he couldn’t deal with that right now.  _ As always, Raven saw through his mask. “Clarke isn’t here. Murphy isn’t here. Diyoza isn’t here.” She jutted a finger at her chest. “ _ I  _ am.  _ You  _ are.  _ Just us.” _

“That’s my exact fucking problem. We need to—”

“Stop thinking like a bloody Gryffindor,” Raven snapped. His mouth fell shut, too stunned to say anything in response. “You, what? You want to go charging back to Diyoza’s? The plan has  _ always  _ been to  _ get out.  _ You know this.”

“But—”

“Think, Bellamy! What happened at Kane’s? You got out  _ immediately.  _ It didn’t matter how you got out, or  _ who  _ you got out with.  _ Because that has always been the plan.  _ Save yourself first. If everyone has that mindset — if nobody tries to be a fucking hero — then  _ everyone  _ gets out safe.” Her gaze softened. “Kane… He tried to be a hero. He  _ was  _ a hero.  _ And look where that got him.” _

“Clarke is—”

“—a Slytherin. She’ll be fine.” Her shoulders stiffened. “So will Murphy for that matter.  _ And so will we.” _

His mind still swam. The rush of his blood felt like thunder on a summer night. He felt  _ sick  _ and  _ scared  _ and—

_ “I felt it!”  _ It was a cry from off in the distance. Someone — a male — was calling out to what Bellamy assumed to be another person. Raven grew stiff. His blood turned to ice in his veins.

Adrenaline from the attack was still flowing through him. His heart was pounding. He felt distant from his body, like he was floating above, watching his own movements through foggy glass. He felt sick; after effects of adrenaline, sure, but there was so much more to it.

_ So much more that he couldn’t think of.  _

Not now.

Slowly, his gaze turned to hers. “Raven,” he breathed, his breath coming out as a fog between them. “Where the  _ fuck  _ did you take us?”

She swallowed thickly. Her eyes darted away from his, her whole body twisting to stare in the direction of the farm house. “Professor McGonagall said—”

_ “Where, Raven?” _

“—she said to come here if there was ever an issue. When she showed me, it was empty. I don’t know who—”

She fell silent. Bellamy didn’t press further either. Instinctively, he  _ knew  _ he needed to remain quiet. His breathing grew shallow. He strained his ears, trying to hear, trying to listen, trying to—

The hair along the back of his neck stood straight up. He felt petrified with fear. Dizziness swept over him — was it from adrenaline? Fear? Lack of oxygen?

His body tensed, like a spring coiled, ready to snap at any second. He ached to grasp his wand — to feel some sense of security. He felt open — exposed — vulnerable.

_ He felt like an animal being hunted. _

The prey grew still and quiet.

The predators mirrored them.

Several long beats past.  _ Nothing.  _ He couldn’t hear a single sound in the world around him. The grass swished together in the wind. Crickets hummed. A chill ran down his spine.

He studied Raven’s expression. “I think—”

A red stream of light shot at them from beyond the grassline. It hit the ground a few inches away from Bellamy, sending wet mud flying into the air. He dove to the side, crashing into Raven, knocking her out of the way of another red jet of light.

“Run!” he called, hauling himself to his feet. Another red light shot at her. She blocked it with a quick shield. “Raven,  _ run!” _

Before he could take a step in the direction they came from, Raven’s hand darted and grabbed his, pulling him to a stop. “Wait!” she called into the empty night. She lifted her hands palm up, both of their wands tumbling to the grassy ground below her. “Stop!”

“What the fuck are you—”

“They’re using stunners,” she pointed out. Bellamy froze. “Death Eaters don’t use stunners. Whoever this is — they are one of us.” She turned in the direction the spells came from and raised her voice. “Stop! Please!”

Once again, the world grew quiet.

Bellamy’s heart pounded in his chest. His hands mirrored Raven’s; they were palm up and above his shoulders, a sign of surrender. He had to fight the urge to lunge for his wand and fire back.

“Raven,” Bellamy hissed. “Raven, I don’t know—”

“Hold!” A figure emerged from beyond the grassy field, their feet the only body part visible.  _ A Disillusionment Charm. _ “State your name and business.”

Another figure followed behind the first, a Disillusionment Charm also placed over them. They both must’ve neutralized the charm at the same time, as it was bleeding away. Seconds ago, Bellamy could only see their feet. Now, he could see their knees. Every second that past, more and more of their bodies became visible.

Bellamy stepped forward. “Why don’t  _ you  _ state your name and business.”

The first voice — a woman — let out a short bark of laughter. “Nice try, but last I checked, we’re the ones with wands, so  _ we  _ ask the questions.”

His fingers twitched. Maybe he could move fast enough. He could dive to the ground, grab his wand, and—

“I am Raven Reyes. We are part of the Order safe house system. Last I checked,  _ this  _ was one on the map. It’s supposed to be empty, used only in times of emergencies.”

Bellamy watched as the last of the Disillusionment Charms faded away. The first to appear was the woman. He recognized her instantly and had to fight the urge to let out a cry. She looked so similar to how he knew her; her curly black hair was tied back in the same style she wore on the Quidditch pitch and her brown eyes held the same determination and intensity they did back in school.

Seconds behind her, a man appeared, not any less familiar than the first. His red hair was unmistakable, although he lacked the wide smile he usually wore at Hogwarts.

Bellamy had to do everything in his power not to rush into his former teammate’s arms. It had been over a year since he saw them, and they were never particularly that close, but they were familiar faces. That alone made his words die on his tongue.

Angelina Johnson and George Weasley stood before them, wands pointed at their chests and fire in their eyes. They were both Gryffindors in the year above him. He played Quidditch with them, caused mayhem in the D.A. with them, he  _ fought alongside them.  _

“Angelina,” Raven breathed. She studied the older witch, her carefully molded expression melting away to one of surprise. “You—”

Angelina’s wand swivelled towards Bellamy’s chest. “You. Name and business.”

“Bellamy Blake. Order safe house system.”

George raised his eyebrows nonchalantly. “Order safe house system? Never heard of it. You heard of it, Angie?”

“Mm, not that I can recall. Not sure what the Order is, if I’m being honest.” Her wand shifted to Raven again. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, really?” Raven stepped forward in challenge. “You’re asking  _ us  _ to prove our identities, but we don’t know if it’s truly you. You could be under the Imperious, or someone using Polyjuice.”

Bellamy was on edge. Thoughts rushed through his mind so fast that he barely had enough time to recognize each one. Raven was right — they were being held at wand point, even if it  _ looked  _ like it was by friends. They couldn’t trust anyone in this war.

Bellamy ducked and grabbed their wands from the grass, happily noting he wasn’t immediately stunned for moving. He pointed his wand at George and passed Raven hers.

The tensions grew.

Neither of the groups wanted to be the one to make the first move.

After a long moment stretched, Bellamy huffed and cocked an eyebrow. “Fawkes. Kane. Longbottom. Padfoot.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Angelina hissed, her eyes narrowing. “You aren’t—”

“Tell me what all those things have in common and I won’t stun you,” Bellamy demanded.

“Why don’t  _ you  _ give me a reason not to stun  _ you  _ — right here, right now, Blake.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes. “Now, Angelina.”

“I don’t think—”

“They’re passwords,” George cut in. His partner gave him a withering glare. He didn’t waver. “Those are all the last four passwords for Potterwatch, in order.” He faltered. His wand dipped. “You listen?”

With the confirmation that he recognized the names as passwords, Bellamy felt a wave of relief hit him. The only people who knew the passwords for Potterwatch were friends of Potter and the Order.

“Every week.” Bellamy turned to eye Raven. He could tell what she was thinking.  _ This truly was George and Angelina.  _ Except...

“We need more proof,” Raven cut in, her wand holding steady.

Angelina lifted her eyebrows. “As do we.”

“Fine. We’ll go first. We are part of the Order’s safe house system — that’s true. The head of the organization brought me here, told me to use this house in case of an emergency.”

Angelina cooly lifted a brow. “And it’s an emergency because…?”

“Because we were almost killed.” Raven glanced at Bellamy and he nodded. “Death Eaters showed up at our last safe house. We broke the taboo. We barely escaped.”

“Mate, if you listen every week, why the fuck did you  _ not  _ know about the taboo?” George pressed. Angelina elbowed him. “Just saying.”

“It wasn’t us.” Raven must’ve decided she divulged enough information and gestured to them with her wand. “What about you two? How did you know this location?”

“The head of the Order brought us here, told us it was for emergencies only.” For the first time, Angelina’s expression wavered. She exchanged a concerned look with the wizard at her side. “Like you, we’re in the middle of an emergency.”

They fell into silence again. Bellamy watched Raven closely, trusting her judgement. She was better at picking up details than he was; if anyone was going to be able to decide if they were safe, she was the one.

Finally, she lowered her wand to her side. Bellamy mirrored her action, as did the two across from them.

For a moment, nobody knew what to do.

Then, Raven let out a laugh and rushed forward, embracing Angelina fondly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Brilliant bird, it’s good to see you, too.” They clapped each other on the back.

Bellamy watched. He had no idea they were close.

As if sensing his thoughts, Raven turned to him. “We worked together at the  _ Prophet _ before it went to shit. We got out around the same time.”

His former Quidditch Captain turned to him and grinned. “Good to see you, too, Blake. I hadn’t heard from either of you in so long — I feared the worst.”

“Yeah, and usually we’re the ones getting the reports first,” George jumped in. His chest puffed with pride. “As you two  _ adoring _ fans would already know; Potterwatch is a hit! Want my autograph?”

_ Yup.  _ If Bellamy wasn’t sure before, he was now. This was one of the Weasley twins.

“Cut it out,” Angelina demanded, stepping back from Raven. Her eyes swept across the open road behind them carefully, her gaze calculating. “We should get inside. Kingsley said—”

“Kingsley says a lot of things.”

“And usually he’s right. He  _ told  _ Cormac not to—”

Bellamy barely got his words out. “Cormac? Cormac McLaggen?” While he and Cormac were usually at each other’s throats, they used to split a dorm with each other at Hogwarts. He felt guilty when he realized he hadn’t thought of his roommate since they graduated in June.

“I’m afraid you have a lot to catch up on.”

Before she could elaborate, a new voice called out. “Ange! George! Alright out here?” It took a second for Bellamy to place the voice.

Alicia Spinnet. Angelina’s best friend and his former Quidditch teammate. It only made sense she was here too.

“We’re fine!” Angelina gestured towards the farmhouse. The grass was so tall that Bellamy could just see the top of it through the field. “We need to move.”

The journey up the road to the farmhouse was a quiet and tense one. The farmhouse reminded him of the few Wizarding communities he visited; it was built of sturdy stone and looked older than the surrounding land, as if the Earth had bent to its will, not the other way around. Then again, if this house belonged to the Order, then maybe magic had a hand in that as well.

One thing that worried Bellamy was the lack of wards surrounding the property. They had barely begun up the path, yet he could see Alicia standing on the porch, her wand drawn. In the window, silhouettes moved back and forth. As they grew closer, he could hear screaming.

George and Angelina walked in front of them, both of their shoulders tensed and their movements hurried. Bellamy had a feeling the stress wasn’t just from being out in the open. He suspected there was something else going on. He felt his body tense in response, already prepared for a fight.

“What’s going on?” Raven pressed, breaking the silence. “You mentioned an emergency.”

“We arrived ten minutes before you two did,” Angelina informed them, glancing at them over her shoulder. She shared a long look with George.

“You mentioned you listen to Potterwatch,” he said, speaking up when it was clear Angelina didn’t know where to start. “You’ve heard our show, so you know who’s all with us.”

“Well, just who you’ve had on the radio,” Raven said. “You, Fred, Lee and Kingsley are the only ones I’ve heard. Once I heard Professor Lupin, but…”

“Yeah, well. The girls have been with us as well since the start.” It didn’t surprise Bellamy that Angelina and Alicia had been with the group since the start of the war; they were inseparable at Hogwarts. “Katie is still at Hogwarts.”

George quickly turned forward again, but Bellamy caught his expression of pain. It was one he recognized all too well. Katie Bell was George’s girlfriend of several years. If she was at Hogwarts, he must’ve been going mad with worry.

“Cormac McLaggen is here too,” Angelina added after a pause. “We only picked up him and Kingsley recently. Like you, Kingsley broke the taboo on You-Know-Who’s name, had to flee the Ministry. Cormac got a little too drunk one night, got into some trouble with some Death Eaters. When he couldn’t pay up, he went on the run. Joined us a few weeks back.”

On the porch, Alicia looked nervous. She was shifting her weight back and forth, her wand tapping rapidly against her thigh. The screaming was growing louder the closer they got to the house.

“Finally,” Alicia breathed as soon as they approached. She jogged down the steps and raced towards the approaching group. “Fred’s asking for you.”

George turned to the group and gave them an apologetic look. “I need to—”

“Go,” Angelina urged him. Her expression hardened, reminding Bellamy of all their pregame huddles back at Hogwarts. She was always good at hiding her worry and fear for the betterment of the team. “I’ve got it from here.”

He gave her a stiff nod before taking off into the house. 

Alicia took his place in and eyed them closely. “You checked them?”

“They passed. They’re who they look like.”

Raven glanced in the direction George took off in. “What happened? What’s wrong? Is Weasley — Fred — is he okay?”

“The screaming is from Cormac,” Angelina informed them. She nervously glanced at the sky again and frowned. “We should head in. We could be spotted from out here.”

As soon as they crossed the threshold of the house, he was bombarded by several yelling voices. One was distinctly louder than the rest and in clear agony. The others, from what he could gather, were trading comments back and forth over the noise.

“The thing about Potterwatch is that it’s dangerous,” Angelina explained as she led them into the house. The front entrance way was sealed off from the rest of the house. The long hallway filled with closed doors reminded Bellamy of Diyoza’s house.

_ Diyoza’s. _

His nails dug into his palm with that thought, sending a jolt of pain up his arm that rivaled the sudden sting in his chest.

_ Clarke. _

**_Clarke._ **

Raven must’ve felt his shift. Her head whipped towards him. He could feel her gaze burning into his side.

He felt sick. The floor was ripped out from under him. He was falling. Falling, falling, falling—

“Our broadcasts are tracked frequently, so we’ve started moving locations after each broadcast. We were slow leaving the last safe house and…” Angelina glanced down the hall. “We paid the price.”

“They used cursed fire,” Alicia supplied. “Tried to trap us in and burn us alive.”

“Cormac got burned by Fiendfyre?” Raven guessed. “That’s dark magic. You won’t be able to heal him with any spell.”

Alicia grimaced. “Which is why he’s screaming bloody murder right now. Fred and George are…  _ experienced  _ with dark wounds, but...” She turned to Angelina. “I should check on him, see if I could help. I don’t want—”

“I’ll come,” Raven said quickly, already moving forward. “Magic won’t work in treating cursed wounds; you’ll be needing some Muggle treatments.” Bellamy took a half-step in her direction, but Angelina caught his attention.

“I need to put up wards. Are you any good at protection magic?”

He thought about being on the run with Clarke. Everytime they moved locations, they had to recast all their spells to keep them safe. 

_ Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. _

_ “This is a nightmare, but it’s something we can’t wake up from. We’re living it.”  _ Clarke’s words from so long ago seemed to come back to him in that moment. She said that to him the first night they spent in Muggle London, after they escaped the attack on Kane’s.

They felt so applicable now.

He forced his thoughts away from her.

He didn’t have time to think. He didn’t have time to fall apart. He needed to stay together. He needed to stay alive.

“I’m familiar with them,” he told her. He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Sure. Let’s go.”

If he was being honest in that moment, he was  _ glad  _ Angelina was asking him to do this. He needed to stay busy — he needed to stay distracted. If he stopped, even for a minute, he was sure the world would come crashing down around him.

He taught her one of the incantations Clarke learned from Kane’s advanced charms textbook;  _ Cave inimicum.  _ It was a favourite of hers. The charm would hide anything — including the farmhouse — in plain sight. If anyone came too close, they wouldn’t be able to see, hear, or smell anything beyond the wards, and they’d be sent away.

Together, they walked the perimeter of the house, casting three basic protection charms and  _ Cave inimicum. _

Bellamy tried not to think about how  _ different  _ everything was the first time they left a safe house. The act of creating wards made it difficult not to think about.

_ It reminded him of Clarke. _

As he worked, he let himself get lost in thought.

_ It was dangerous.  _ He knew he was barely maintaining his hold on reality. He knew that, if he slipped up, he’d spiral.

_ But he couldn’t help it. _

He remembered Clarke’s awed expression as they stood in Piccadilly Circus. He remembered  _ staring  _ at her when he transfigured her hair to black to hide her identity and thinking about how beautiful she was. He remembered falling asleep in the bed beside hers, lulled into a state of peace by her steady breathing and the thought that at least  _ she  _ was safe. He remembered how gentle her fingers were against his aching skin, how she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, claiming ‘Muggle magic’ as she did. He remembered joking about marriage and Superman and talking about sugar quills and—

No.

Stop.

He forced Clarke from his mind. His chest heaved. His body ached.

His head tipped back. He was tempted to scream. Tempted to succumb to the temptation of darkness. Tempted to fall to pieces.

_ Because that would’ve been easy.  _ It took all his strength to keep strong, to keep his thoughts away from her, to keep upright. It would’ve been easier —  _ so much easier _ — just to think about her and  _ feel. _

“Blake, you done?” Angelina approached him, eying him closely.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

_ He was a liar. _

He must’ve been in worse shape than he thought. Angelina — a woman he barely knew — just  _ stared  _ at him. He averted his gaze.

“Fine,” she said slowly, slipping her wand into her robes. “We should head in.” He mindlessly followed her back to the house. He struggled to keep his mind blank, as if that would simply erase everything happening.

_ As if it would erase everything that happened. _

_ All the horror. _

_ All the loss. _

_ All the pain. _

Before they entered the house, the dark-haired witch turned to him, her eyes narrowed. “I’m going to be blunt with you,” Angelina stated simply. “Who were they?”

A chill swept over him, rooting him to the ground. “What?”

“Raven said you’re here because of an emergency — because you were attacked at your last safe house.” She leaned against the banister of the porch and studied him. “She also mentioned that you weren’t the ones to break the taboo.”

“We weren’t,” he said, his voice measured. He gripped his wand tighter to keep his hands from shaking. “What about it?”

“Only you and Raven showed up. The other person — people? — aren’t here. You’re a mess. Who were they? What happened?”

_ What happened. _

What happened was that he left Clarke.

Between the chaos and adrenaline, it had been shoved out of his mind. He was so focused on surviving, so focused on making sure that they were safe,  _ so caught up with not thinking about it. _

All his repressed emotions came back full force, knocking the wind from him.  _ They were attacked.  _ He left Clarke.

_ He left Clarke. _

Bellamy’s eyes slid shut. His stomach rolled. The wood of his wand dug into his hand. The skin along his knuckles grew tight.

_ Clarke. _

He was separated from Clarke.  _ He left her behind.  _ It was something that he never imagined doing — not even in his worst nightmares. Always —  _ always  _ — she was beside him, no matter what.

He was drowning.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

_ How will they get back?  _ How were Raven and him supposed to return to the others? How were they supposed to find Clarke and Murphy, how were they ever going to be able to meet up with them again, how—

_ He left her behind. _

_ He left her behind to  _ **_die._ **

The world tipped around him as the thought hit him full force.

“Woah there.” Cool hands grasped at his elbow. His eyes flew open and he stumbled a few steps back. Angelina stared at him, her face a mask of worry. “Relax, Blake. You need to breathe. I didn’t mean—”

“I— I—”

_ He couldn’t speak. _

_ Couldn’t breathe. _

Panic engulfed him like waves in the ocean, sucking him further and further, deeper and deeper. His hold on this facade — this calmness — was loosening.

Clarke could be dead.

His knees grew weak under him. He would’ve crashed to the ground without Angelina’s grip on his arm. She stumbled forward as he collapsed, quickly guiding him to sit on the top step of the porch.

“Are you hurt?” she pressed. “Should I get Raven?”

“No,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. “No, don’t call her.”

“If you’re hurt, I need to—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped, yanking his elbow from her. His fingers curled around the wood beneath him. His fingers groaned from the strength he used. His whole body shook.

It felt like he was falling to pieces. Breaking. Fracturing. Drowning.

_ Clarke. _

The image of her lying  _ lifelessly  _ in Diyoza’s living room came all too easily to him.  _ It shook him to his core.  _ He could imagine her dead — dying — gone. Even when he slammed his eyes shut, he could still see her; her chest still, her eyes dull, her body broken.  _ Blood. So much blood.  _ Her lips were smeared with it. The floor pooled with it.

Cold.

He felt cold.

Numb.

It felt like  _ he  _ was the one dying, not Clarke.

_ Not Clarke. _

_ Please, not Clarke. _

“Bellamy.” Angelina spoke his name slowly. She crouched in front of him, remaining in his line of sight, feeling so far away, yet too close all at the same time. His chest felt tight and heavy —  _ so fucking heavy.  _ He couldn’t breathe. “Bellamy, what can I do?”

_ Nothing. _

This was it. This was how he was going to die. He could feel it, clawing at him. It was like a shadow had swallowed the sun, swallowed all hope, plunging him into a cool darkness.

_ Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. _

Her name was on an endless loop in his mind.

_ She could be dead. _

He got out, but  _ did she? _

Explosions. Flashing lights. Screams.

_ So much screaming. _

Why did he let Raven pull him away? Why didn’t he move faster?  _ He heard screaming, he felt explosions, he saw the flashes of Killing Curses.  _ Clarke had been right in the centre of it. She— She was— He couldn’t—

“Bellamy, you’re okay. You’re safe. Focus on your breathing.” Angelina sucked in several deep breaths, exaggerating the sound to remind him to do the same. His throat felt too tight to move.

_ Not me. _

_ I’m not worried about me. _

_ I’m worried about her. _

“Raven’s fine,” Angelina promised him. “Raven’s safe. Remember? Raven is—”

_ Clarke. _

His shirt clung to his back, pulled tight against his skin from the thin layer of sweat. It felt like he was going to get sick.

He left Clarke to die.

Maybe that was all he was good for — leaving the people he loved to die. His mother. Octavia. Kane. Clarke.  _ Everyone he loved died. _

“I— I don’t know if you remember, but the game against Ravenclaw. The game… It was in early spring. Snow was still on the ground. And…”

Angelina continued to speak. Her voice sounded so far away, like he was underwater. He tried to focus on her words, on her face, on her voice, but—

_ Clarke. _

It felt like he was back in his fourth year, facing down the Boggart in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class. He was standing in front of the cabinet, waiting for the creature to appear, waiting for it to reveal his biggest fear, and—

“And you were pissed because I made you all practice so fucking early in the mornings, and you said Wood would’ve never made you do this, even though we both know that’s a lie. Oliver would’ve  _ gladly  _ woke you up earlier than I did...”

—the Boggart shifted quickly, transforming in front of his eyes, shifting to his sister.  _ Octavia.  _ It was a perfect replica of her.  _ And he knew it wasn’t real.  _ He knew it was magic, but—

“Potter — of course — was busy flying for the snitch, and you were—”

_ —seeing his sister — dead — in front of him made his world twist sideways.  _ To beat the creature, he had to transform his fear into something he could laugh at.  _ How was he supposed to think past the dead body in front of him?  _ How was he supposed to transform his sister’s bloody form into anything that he could laugh at.

“Wood warned me that Fred and George would be almost impossible to instruct, and I  _ knew _ , but—”

Octavia’s eyes were unseeing, her face splattered with blood, her skin paler than the moon.

She looked dead, it was all pretend, and he was traumatized.

“The one game—”

_ Clarke’s eyes were unseeing, her face splattered with blood, her skin paler than the moon.  _

The image of Octavia — the one he saw when he was fourteen and terrified — easily shifted to Clarke’s.

_ This time, he wasn’t so sure it was pretend. _

“And Slytherin—”

“Clarke Griffin,” he rasped, his throat still tight. She instantly stopped talking. 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Griffin was a player on the Slytherin Quidditch team. She’s—”

_ “No,”  _ he hissed. His body felt weak and sluggish. His skin felt too tight. His mind felt too distant. “Clarke Griffin. She’s...”  _ dead  _ “...not here. She’s— I’m— I— I need to go.”

Her coolness cracked. She flinched and turned to him, her eyes wide. “What?”

“I have to go back.”

_ Yes. _

_ He needed to. _

He needed to go to her. He needed to make sure she was alright. He needed to hold her in his arms; screw the rest of the world. He didn’t  _ care  _ about anything else.

_ Just her. _

He never thought that he’d be wishing to go back in time; that he’d  _ want  _ to go back to night Kane’s safe house fell.

_ But he wanted it. He wanted Clarke. _

Bellamy didn’t remember when he stood up, nor did he remember Fred Weasley coming outside, nor did he remember Angelina taking his wand. He swayed on his feet, his eyes darting frantically between his wand and the two Order members.

“Bellamy,” Fred said, his arm outstretched towards him, “you need to sit down.”

He laughed dryly. If he wasn’t so panicked, he would’ve been terrified at how  _ haunted  _ he sounded at that moment. “What I need?” he echoed. “What I need is for you to  _ move.”  _ His eyes zeroed in on his wand. “Give me back my wand, Ange.”

“You’re upset. You’re hurting. I understand,” she said, approaching him slowly. His eyes darted between her brown ones and the brown wood of his wand. He burned for it.  _ He needed it.  _ Fuck, he needed to get to Clarke and—

“Give me back my wand,” he demanded, his voice harder than before. Fred’s grasp tightened on his shoulder — when did he reach for him? “If you don’t give me my wand back  _ right the fuck now,  _ I will never forgive you.”

“Tough shit, Blake, but I’m not letting you go back there.”

“Give me my wand.”

“It’s dangerous. You’ll be killed.”

“I don’t care, I need to— I have to—” He pushed at Fred’s arm. “Clarke is there and I—”

“Clarke?” Fred echoed. “Clarke Griffin? The Slytherin Princess? Why are you—”

Something inside Bellamy snapped. His gaze snapped to Fred’s. Anger burned bright inside him. “Don’t.”

Fred shot Angelina a confused glance. “But… she’s a Slytherin and a Death Eater. Why are you—”

Bellamy lunged forward, a snarl coming from him. Fred shoved him back easily. When he regained his balance, the older wizard’s wand was pointed at him.

“Fuck off,” Bellamy hissed. His arms shook at his sides. His nails dug into his palm, drawing blood easily. His breaths came out as rapid pants. “You don’t know her.”

“I don’t?” he questioned. “I know enough.”

“You don’t know  _ shit,  _ Weasley.”

Fred glanced at Angelina. “Do you think he’s brainwashed? Imperiused? I wouldn’t past the likes of her.”

_ He snapped. _

Bellamy lunged.

His fist connected with Fred’s face. He was knocked to the ground from the impact, a string of curses leaving his mouth.

Pain flared up his arm, but he paid it no attention. His nostrils flared, his heart pounded, his body shook. 

He was too angry to form words. His vision was painted with red. He was  _ so fucking angry  _ that he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to scream — wanted to smash something — wanted to—

“Don’t. Move.” Angelina stepped in front of Fred, her eyes flashing. She pressed the tip of her wand against his throat, freezing Bellamy in place.

His anger shifted to her. He gritted his teeth. “Give me my wand, or I’ll—” 

“Or you’ll what?” She lifted an eyebrow coolly. “You’ll kill me?”

“I’m not a monster,” he hissed. His eyes snapped to Fred. “And neither is she.” What he implied — that she’d use an Unforgivable Curse so  _ freely  _ so  _ easily  _ — it made his stomach twist.

“She’s a bloody Death Eater!” he yelled. “Her mother is—”

“She isn’t her mother. And she isn’t a Death Eater.” Bellamy clenched his fists, trying to control himself.

“Fuck off,” Fred spat, pulling himself up. His left jaw was already a burning red and swelling. “Potterwatch are the ones to hear reports first. We have sources — reliable ones, too — and Griffin is—” he laughed darkly “—Griffin is one of them.”

_ Lies. _

The anger — the injustice — the twistedness of the whole situation stole Bellamy’s breath.

How could anyone say that about her? How could anyone  _ believe  _ that Clarke — someone who believed and fought for justice — a woman who risked  _ everything  _ for what she believed in — would be a Death Eater.

_ (You did, _ he told himself.  _ You did before you knew her.) _

“I guess you should check your sources,” Bellamy growled. “Because they’re fucking lying!” He couldn’t think past the rage. He couldn’t think past how fucked up this was. 

“You don’t know—”

“Don’t tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about! She’s been with me for  _ months!  _ She’s been in the Order safe houses for  _ half a fucking year!” _

Fred looked at him like he was insane, like  _ he  _ was the one making shit up. “She was just spotted in Knockturn Alley last week,” he pointed out. “Not one, not two, but  _ three  _ different sources confirmed that.”

_ Last week. _

Bellamy knew there was more to uncover here. There was something bigger going on.  _ But he couldn’t get past the rage, the fierce need to protect and defend, the adrenaline rushing through him. _

Angelina studied him closely. The pressure from her wand on his throat decreased. “Let’s all take a breath, okay?” she suggested. Her gaze remained on Bellamy’s. “Maybe… Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think, yeah?”

_ That made it so much worse. _

“Don’t,” he snarled.

“You couldn’t possibly know her whereabouts for every second of the day,” she pointed out, her voice calm. “She’s a Slytherin. They’re deceitful. Liars. That’s their house traits, Blake, and—”

“We were playing video games last week!” he yelled. “How— We— How could she  _ possibly  _ have been with me and in Knockturn Alley at the same time!?”

“Okay,” Angelina said slowly. “I’m not calling you a liar, Bellamy. I believe you. But—”

“You don’t—”

“ _ But,”  _ she hissed, “you could be mistaken. You might’ve played video games — sure — but she could’ve snuck out at night, or she could’ve—”

“She did  _ not  _ leave the house. She didn’t sneak out at night. She—”

“We wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t know,” she offered gently. “I’m sure you weren’t watching the front door all night, every night, and she could’ve used silencing charms, or—”

“Clarke is not a Death Eater  _ and she did not fucking leave at night!” _

“You don’t know—”

_ He had enough. _

“I fucking know! I know because  _ she was asleep beside me.  _ And every night — every  _ fucking night  _ — I’d wake up from nightmares and  _ hold her  _ because  _ she’s the only reason I’m able to sleep at all.  _ I’d check on her to make sure she was alive  _ and okay.  _ Every. Night. So don’t fucking tell me she left during the night.” He studied their shocked and horrified expressions. Finally —  _ fucking finally  _ — he stunned them both into silence. “Don’t tell me I don’t know her. I  _ know  _ her. I’m  _ in love  _ with her.”

_ There,  _ he thought.  _ Let the world know. _

He’d gladly shout it out again  _ and again and again. _

He loved Clarke Griffin and he wasn’t interested in keeping it a secret.

It was then that he realized just how isolated they were. They had gone for  _ months  _ being openly in love — yet nobody outside of the safe house knew. The world didn’t know how much he loved her. The world didn’t know how  _ wonderful  _ and  _ selfless  _ and  _ good  _ Clarke was. The world didn’t know she was fighting for the Order; not hiding away in her room in Griffin Manor.

He felt like he had been dunked underwater.

It was as if the last several months of their lives didn’t exist in the outside world.

_ It was terrifying. _

Bellamy took a single step backwards, retreating towards the house. He raised his hand and pointed in their direction, still filled with so much rage that he shook.

“If you ever talk about her like that again—” He breathed heavily. Tension rose with the promise of a threat. “Leave me the hell alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't read/watch Harry Potter (or aren't very familiar with the characters), feel free to ask questions. Basically, the characters mentioned in this chapter are all characters from HP canon. BUT if you don't know them, that's totally okay. I've written the chapters to provide context necessary to understanding who they are. And they're all pretty minor characters from the HP universe, so basically nothing is known about them anyway. We're all in the same boat!! Just view them as OCs and you'll be A-OK.
> 
> But if you're curious about all the characters mentioned... In order of appearance/mention:  
> -Angelina Johnson  
> -George Weasley  
> -Kingsley Shacklebolt*  
> -Cormac McLaggen**  
> -Alicia Spinnet  
> -Fred Weasley  
> -Lee Jordan  
> They are all Gryffindors in the year above Bellamy. **Except Cormac, who is in Bellamy's year. *Also, except Kingsley (he is an older Order member, similar to Diyoza and Kane).
> 
> These are my baby characters from the HP world, which is why I added them. Also, I wanted to write all my hc's for them and I'll literally never write a HP fic for them so...
> 
> You'll pry them from my cold dead hands. 
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> Come yell at me in the comments or [on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	34. Chapter 33: Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here just take it.
> 
> if you need a refresher, i don't blame you. diyoza's was attacked and now bellamy and raven linked up with some harry potter characters. uh basically we left off with fred vs bellamy.
> 
> enjoy!

**_BELLAMY_ **

_March 21, 1998_

* * *

Bellamy wasn’t sure how long he slept. It barely felt like he shut his eyes, yet he was being shaken awake again.

His whole body hurt from everything that happened the day before — the fighting, the running, the _stress._ His neck was bent at an odd angle against the couch. The cushions smelled like mildew. The whole farmhouse smelled like dust; a stark reminder that this house used to be empty a few hours ago.

Now, it was filled with nearly ten wizards and witches.

“Bellamy,” Raven said, her voice hushed. She shook his shoulder again, pulling him from slumber. “Bellamy, wake up.”

He instantly jolted awake, his hand flying towards his wand. His heart beat erratically against his chest and he bolted up.

“No,” Raven said quickly, her hand shooting out to touch him. “No, we’re okay. We’re fine.”

He blinked rapidly. He hadn’t been too deep of a sleep to forget where he was, even though he hoped he would. He hoped he would wake up and discover the past day was all a bad dream.

“What?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. “What’s going on?”

“We’re not under attack.” Raven pointedly glanced at his wand. He quickly released his hold on it. “Kingsley wants to talk to us.”

Bellamy, becoming more awake, took a good look at Raven. She looked exhausted — more so than what he felt. Her eyes were heavy, his mouth pinched tight, her hair falling haphazardly out of a ponytail.

“What time is it?” The room was too dark to be morning, but he could hear people moving around the house. 

She rubbed her forehead. “Maybe four or five in the morning? I’m not sure.”

“Fuck.” He studied her. “You haven’t slept yet?”

“I’ve been helping with Cormac,” she explained. Before he could ask, she continued speaking. “He’s going to be okay. The twins are geniuses with dark magic.” She frowned. “Which sounds bad. But it makes sense, with how much magic they fuck around with on the daily.”

Bellamy tried not to show how annoyed he was with simply hearing their names. 

Raven must’ve been too tired to notice. “We managed to give him something for the pain and we healed what we could. Fred and George are trying to come up with something that’ll reverse the cursed fire’s effects, but I doubt they’ll get it. It’s dark magic. One of the fundamental properties is that it’s untreatable.” She pinched her nose. “Sorry. I’m ranting. I’m just… tired.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Maybe she wasn’t as oblivious to it as he thought, but she misunderstood _why_ he was frustrated. He thought he was upset with her, not them. “Listen, Raven, I—” He swallowed thickly and tried again. “Something happened.”

“Oh?”

 _Fuck,_ telling her about Fred and Angelina was hard. 

He used to idolize them when he was a first year; they were only a year older than him, but they were so _cool_ and everything he aspired to be. The twins were on the Quidditch team and they were carefree. They didn’t seem to care about anything outside of family; not marks, not school, not living up to others’ expectations.

They lived a life that was so different compared to his. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he was always trying to live up to others’ expectations. He was always trying to make his mother proud and do what she said. He was always trying to keep Octavia safe and out of trouble. _And, yeah, he was really fucking stressed — even as a kid._ The whole ‘your sister, your responsibility’ thing _fucked with his head_ for a long time.

He used to idolize the _Potterwatch_ crew and it _hurt_ to hear them have such skewed opinions on people he loved.

What hurt the most though was the fact they used to be friends. They were both in the same Hogwarts house, they both played on the same Quidditch team, they both participated in the same extra-curricular activities.

Those were his friends.

It hurt that the war changed them so much.

(Or, was it **him** that the war changed?)

Raven inched closer. “What happened?”

“Hm?”

“I asked you what happened?” Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Bellamy blew out a long breath and pulled away from her. “I’m fine.”

Raven stilled. Her expression grew guarded. “Listen, I know you’re mad at me, but—”

“I’m not mad at you.” It was the truth. _He wasn’t mad at her._ He was confused, and worried, and _hurt_ — but not by her. “It’s… It’s not you.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but neither of them commented on that.

“Kingsley?” Bellamy prompted, pointing towards the doorway.

She looked at him for a long moment. Briefly, Bellamy was sure she was going to try and argue with him, insisting that he tell her what he was meaning to. Then, she let her eyes slide closed and nodded slowly.

“Let’s go.”

.

Kingsley asked standard questions; how they knew about the safe house, where they came from, why they were here.

Raven did most of the talking. Standing in front of Kingsley, thinking about what came _before_ their arrival at the farmhouse, it was too much for Bellamy. It felt like his whole chest was caving it. He felt empty.

Being empty was probably better than the alternative.

Despair. Desperation. Anger. Grief. Regret.

He didn’t know what he would feel, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

So, Raven talked.

And he thought.

Kinglsey was wearing wizarding robes. It wasn’t until this moment that Bellamy realized how long it had been since he saw traditional wizarding robes. He used to wear them daily at Hogwarts, and he used to wear them frequently at Kane’s. Him and Clarke got rid of their cloaks when they hid in Muggle London. They never wore them again.

_It was strange to think about._

So much had happened over the last few months. So much had happened since he last saw this man.

So much had happened since that morning, really. It made Bellamy’s heart clench painfully. _How did he go from that_ — sitting beside Clarke, joking about Murphy’s shitty cooking, thinking of pulling her into a closet and kissing her breathless — _to this_ — sitting in an Order safe house, unsure if she was still alive.

Fuck.

_Was she still alive?_

He needed to know what happened to her. His mind ran rampant with possibilities. 

Did she escape to an Order safe house like he did? No. She didn’t know any other location. 

Did she flee to Muggle London again, or the forest? 

Did she turn to someone she trusted, like McGonagall?

_Or did something worse happen?_

His stomach twisted. His blood turned to ice in his veins. His chest was seconds away from caving in.

_She could’ve died._

The image had haunted him all night. It was brought to the forefront of his mind easily.

_Clarke laying on the ground of Diyoza, debris from the explosions burying her. Her blue eyes staring up at the ceiling. A trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth, running down her cheek towards her ear, like one final, twisted smile. Her lips pale. Her skin paper thin. Her chest still._

The bones of his hand groaned from the force he used to grip the counter. Faintly, he could hear Kingsley and Raven talking, discussing the details of the events that led them all here, _but he didn’t give a damn._

They felt far away.

He felt like he was underwater.

_Drowning._

Bellamy was thankful for the pain in his hands that kept him tethered to reality. Without it, he wasn’t sure where he would be.

_Clarke could be dead._

_Or she could be alive._

The memory of them standing in Kane’s kitchen was so prominent that he could almost see it in front of him. _He could almost see her in front of him._ She sat on the edge of the counter, her legs swinging back and forth in front of her. He gripped the counter in a similar way in the memory to how he gripped it at the farmhouse.

He was panicked. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. The responsibility of the house — the responsibility of his family — rested on his shoulders, crushing him.

_Kane was missing. He was late. He had to decide if they should stay and wait for him, or if they should abandon him in case Death Eaters discovered him while he was on mission._

Clarke had followed him into the kitchen. It was one of the first times he opened up to her, one of the first times he allowed her to see through the cracks in his masks.

_‘I need you to be honest,’ he told her. ‘What will happen to him?’_

_‘There’s a peace that comes with ignorance.’_

There was a pain, too. There was a pain like no other that came with not knowing the truth — that came with wondering what happened.

_Closure. He needed closure._

Although, this was different from the situation they had been in when Clarke gave him that advice. He’d been desperate to know the horrors that Kane might’ve been going through if he had been captured by Death Eaters. That wouldn’t have brought him closure. That would’ve—

_Captured by Death Eaters._

Bellamy froze. 

_What if she had been captured by Death Eaters?_

His heart stopped. The world tilted. Fear petrified him.

What if she had been found by her mother?

Bellamy remembered the primal fear in her eyes when they spoke of the woman. That day in the kitchen, she spiralled while she spoke of her mother — how she would hurt people who might have information on her without a thought, how the woman would torture people, how she tried to shape Clarke into someone she hated.

Clarke was terrified of the woman. Her Boggart was her mother’s Death Eater mask and robes. She regularly had nightmares about her, about going back to her, about being forced to return to a life she tried so hard to escape from. _Sitting in her room, unable to do anything, an actionless fate._ So many of Clarke’s regrets and mistakes and fears were tied to her mother.

If the Death Eaters recognized her during the battle, they would’ve taken her back to her mother. They would’ve taken both her and Murphy back to her.

_And then what?_

Bellamy wasn’t sure. Murphy’s fate was clear; he would be killed without hesitation. _Killed or tortured._ Clarke said so herself when they were discussing Kane’s fate.

_As for Clarke._

Bellamy didn’t know.

_Bellamy wasn’t sure he wanted to know._

Would her mother welcome her back with open arms? Would she be punished for running away? Would she be forced to be a prisoner in her own home again?

_Or would her fate be worse?_

Bellamy was spiralling. As his grip tightened on the counter, his grip on reality loosened. It felt like he was being pulled into a cave of darkness, like the ocean was pulling him down deeper and deeper, like he was being pulled further and further under.

_Drowning, drowning, drowning._

There was a pounding in his chest that he faintly recognized as his heart. His body felt heavy, too heavy, and he struggled to breathe. 

“Bellamy?”

Raven broke him from his thoughts with a swift kick to his ankle. He gasped and jolted away from her. She eyed him carefully as he sucked in several deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” she asked, inching towards him.

He brushed her off. “Fine. Zoned out.” He swallowed thickly and tried to force his grief and panic down. Raven frowned, but didn’t push. “Was there a, uh, a question?”

Kingsley was the one to respond. “I asked what you wanted to do? About the situation?” When it was clear he still had no idea what he was talking about, he continued. “I mentioned that the Potterwatch crew moves around a lot and it’s dangerous to hang around us. Death Eaters track our broadcasts. Every time we do a show, we have to move quickly, or there will be consequences.” He glanced in the direction of the living room, where Cormac was unconscious and wrapped in gauze. The implication was clear. “If you want, I can put you back into the Order safe house system — the _true_ system, not you two staying in an abandoned emergency house.”

 _Fuck,_ why was it so difficult to think?

Both Raven and Kingsley were looking at him, expecting him to have a grand plan, expecting him to already have figured everything out. Maybe he should’ve already figured things out. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept — he should’ve planned, but—

_Too fucking late._

Apparently, it was too late to be thinking _at all_ because his brain refused to function.

_All he could think of was Clarke._

All he wanted to do was find Clarke.

_He was too tired to keep pushing her away from his mind. He was too tired of running._

Did he want to go back to another safe house? _A safe house without Clarke?_ Not really. But what was he supposed to do otherwise? 

“Uhm.” He swallowed thickly. “I don’t… Raven. What do you think? What should we do?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Actually… I, uh…” The waver in her voice gave away the fact that she was nervous. “I don’t want to go back to the safe houses. I… I want to stay. With Potterwatch.” With her intentions stated, her shoulders relaxed. She met Kingsley’s surprised gaze. “I already talked to Angelina about it and I decided I want to stay and help with the production. I mean… I was working for the _Prophet_ before the war. My dream job has always been reporting and this— fuck— this has the potential to be everything I have wanted. I can help change lives and help change the course of the war.”

Kingsley looked surprised. “You want to stay?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Are you sure? It is dangerous work, Raven. I can’t guarantee that you won’t get hurt or worse.”

“I want this,” she said. Bellamy knew her, but even if he didn’t, he could hear her confidence in her voice. She was unwavering with her decision.

Kingsley must’ve heard it, too. 

“Well… We can always use someone else,” he agreed. “There’s a lot of equipment to run and a lot of reports to sort through.” He crossed the room in two short strides and took Raven’s hand. “Welcome to the team.” He turned to Bellamy. “And what about you? Are you joining us, too?”

Raven turned to look at him, already beaming.

_She expected him to say yes._

Hell, he expected himself to say yes.

_He didn’t._

“I’d appreciate you looking for a new safe house for me,” Bellamy stated simply. 

He hated the way Raven’s expression fell. He hated that he was causing her pain.

_But he couldn’t stay._

Not when the others were staying, too. _Not after yesterday._ He could still feel the residue from the intensity of his emotions from last night; the _anger,_ the _frustration,_ the pure and heartbreaking _hurt_ he felt. He didn’t want to spend a moment longer than he absolutely needed to with them.

He couldn’t stay with Potterwatch, not when he _needed to find Clarke._ How was he going to be able to find her when he was stuck with a bunch of kids from Hogwarts running around the country? How was he going to be able to find her — no matter where that may be — when he was too busy fighting with old friends?

He couldn’t — _he wouldn’t_ — stay.

Not for anything.

_Not even for Raven._

* * *

_March 22, 1998_

He avoided everyone for a solid day before Raven knocked on his door. She opened it without waiting for his response.

“What the fuck?” he groaned, pulling his blanket over his head. “I’m sleeping.”

“You’re a liar.” She closed the door behind her and hovered. “You’ve been avoiding everyone, including me.”

_Because I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be with them. I don’t want to have any of this._

Bellamy wasn’t sure why he didn’t just explain himself to Raven. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just tell her the truth. Why didn’t he tell her that he either wanted to be out there looking for her or doing nothing at all? Why didn’t he tell her that he wanted to leave and look for her, but didn’t know where to start, so he stayed? Why didn’t he tell her that he felt like he was betraying her because he felt like he should be grieving, but grieving meant giving up on hope? 

_How did one begin to explain feeling the need to grieve for someone that they so desperately hoped was alive?_

“I don’t want you to go,” she said simply. “We’ve been—” She swallowed thickly, fighting off the emotions written across her face. “—we’ve been together for almost a year. _Us._ On the run. Don’t throw that away because you’re mad at me.”

_Oh._

Bellamy pulled himself up from bed so he could see her clearly. She was distressed and worried — a fact that he missed a moment ago.

She thought he was leaving because he was mad at her.

_She was wrong, so wrong._

“I’m not mad at you.” His smile was sad. “That argument we had before… the argument before Diyoza’s fell, that meant nothing. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about.”

Raven sighed and shifted awkwardly. Only when Bellamy swung his legs out from under the blanket and patted the side of the mattress did she cross the room to him.

“You were mad at me because I wanted to come with you to Hogwarts and bust Octavia out.” Raven fell to the bed beside him. Her head hit the wall with a solid thump. “Fuck. So much has changed. Are we even going to Hogwarts still?”

Bellamy hated the way his stomach rolled at it. He hated that he hadn’t spent much time thinking of their half-planned mission. He hated that their days spent planning felt like a lifetime away.

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It is bad I haven’t thought of it?”

He already knew the answer. It didn’t matter that Raven tried to reassure him that it wasn’t bad. It didn’t matter.

He was falling to pieces. This war was tearing him apart.

Raven studied him. He could feel her eyes on him, calculating. He didn’t bother watching her. He didn’t bother waiting for her to speak; he already knew what was on her mind.

“I’m telling the truth,” he said, his eyes opening a sliver. “I’m not mad at you, Raven. I’m not mad at you for wanting to come with me to Hogwarts. That was a dumb reason to argue anyways.”

“And what about now?” she pressed. “Are you mad at me for what I did? Are you mad at me for forcing you to leave?”

Bellamy had to pause before he answered.

The truth was, he had been mad at her. He was _so fucking angry_ at everyone. He still was. Even though he knew it was misplaced anger, he was mad at Raven for dragging him away from Diyoza’s.

Bellamy thought back to the previous day. How he screamed at her to let him go. How it was only her iron grip that kept him from running down the stairs, into the battle. How it was her who tackled him to the ground, trying to talk sense into him. How he tackled her to the ground in retribution. How he blamed her for pulling him away. How he rounded on her, horrified, when Diyoza’s safe house melted away and was replaced with the farmhouse. How she took his wand so he wouldn’t go running back to Diyoza’s.

He had been mad.

That didn’t mean he didn’t understand. He understood what she did. He understood that truth and logic to her words. The plan had been to get out immediately — no heroics. If everyone thought that way, everyone would survive. People started dying when they tried to be heroes, when they tried to go back in for others.

“I’m not mad at you for that,” he told her. “I understand what you did.”

Her eyebrows rose at that. “You… You do?”

“I understood Clarke when she did it too.” Raven looked confused, so he explained. “At Kane’s. It was Clarke who grabbed me and forced me out of the house. We left everyone else behind just so we could survive. I… I understood her then, I understand you now.”

Raven took his hand. “I did it because I love you. _I love you, Bellamy.”_ Her thumb brushed along the back of his hand. “I love you and I’m _worried_ about you. We’ve lost people — hell, we’ve lost each other for a bit, but… You lost Clarke. You’re hurting. _You need to grieve.”_

Her words were like a punch to the gut.

Bellamy’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach. His body turned cold with dread.

Despite everything that they had been through, Raven still knew him well enough to know exactly what he needed to hear.

“She’s not dead,” he insisted. “I don’t need to grieve her.”

Her voice was gentle. “But… She’s not here, Bellamy. You’re allowed to grieve.” She squeezed his hand in comfort. The simple action made his throat grow tight. “You were there for me when I worked through losing Finn, Bellamy. I… I hope you’ll allow me to be here for you right now.”

He clung desperately to his denial, like a drowning man clinging to a liferaft.

“She isn’t dead,” he said again, his voice sounding more desperate than before.

“I know,” she told him gently. It took everything in him not to break down right there. His eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’m just… I want you to be safe. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing. That’s why I don’t want you going after her. I just… I can’t let you die. I can’t. I won’t. I love you too much. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I let you go after her and you don’t come back. What ever happened to her has happened, neither of us can change it. But I can change what happens to you. I can stop you from going after her. I can stop something horrible from happening to you.”

To try and hide the fact he was slowly losing his grip, he let out a short bark of cruel laughter. “I don’t need you controlling me, Raven.”

“I’m not trying to control you. I’m sorry if it seems that way. I just… Please. Don’t go, Bellamy. _Please._ You can do good here, with Potterwatch. You’re needed here.” Her voice wavered. Her fingers tightened. “I need you here.”

_He couldn’t do it._

His walls shattered. It felt like every piece of his heart that he had glued back together ripped apart.

_It hurt._

He clenched his eyes tight enough to see stars, in hopes of stopping the tears from flowing. He knew that once they started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

His voice was wet and cracked when he spoke. “Clarke might need time too, Raven.” He choked on a sob and grasped her hand tighter. “I don’t know what happened to her and it’s _killing me._ I’m— fuck. I’m terrified because _she could be dead_ and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

Everything he has been running from — all his emotions — hit him head-on. 

Bellamy doubled over, the force of his sobs making him fall to pieces. His body shook with each cry. 

It felt like he was being ripped apart by wolves. He could feel the despair worm it’s way into his bones, like a poison spreading further and further.

“We will deal with it together, Bellamy. _Together._ I promise you.”

Her words only made sob harder.

 _Together._ That was a promise he made with Clarke. They promised that they would get through anything together. They’d be allies, and teammates, and friends, and in love, and _together._

_They would do it together._

Broken promises, broken hearts.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Raven told him. “It’s okay to fall apart. It’s okay to grieve.”

Bellamy sobbed harder. 

* * *

He was right.

Once he fell apart, it was nearly impossible to put himself back together.

* * *

Mourning for someone he was desperate to believe was alive sucked.

* * *

Time passed.

* * *

Eventually, he told Raven everything.

The moment hit him suddenly and unexpectedly. They were both sprawled out in the spare room he had claimed, their plates of half-eaten vegetables on their laps. Bellamy chased a pea around his plate before locking eyes with her.

“They called her a Death Eater.”

Once he got the words out, he wasn’t too sure why it had been so hard. Maybe he didn’t want to cause a divide between Raven and the others. After all, she had been so happy to be reunited with people she considered friends. It felt cruel to take that away from her — to take away a slice of happiness during such a dark time.

Maybe it was because he didn’t want to believe it himself. He didn’t want to believe that Fred and Angelina were so quick to judge. Maybe he didn’t want to believe that two people that were at the forefront of the war completely forgot and ignored the Slytherins. If they dismissed them as villans and Death Eaters, what were other people doing?

Maybe it was because Fred’s insults were so personal. Maybe it was because they hit _exactly_ where Bellamy was hurting the most. Maybe he didn’t want to examine that wound — not yet, at least.

He didn’t know.

It didn’t matter.

Raven glanced up from her plate, her eyebrows raised and her fork poised at her mouth. “What?”

The words came easily after that.

“Fred and Angelina. The night we first arrived. They called Clarke a Death Eater.” 

The words felt wrong to say out loud. _Clarke, a Death Eater._ Many months ago, this was the only sentence that made sense to him; this was the one fact he was sure about. 

_Clarke Griffin was a Death Eater._

Now, it made his stomach twist and his heart ache.

“He accused her of using the Imperius Curse on me.” The same anger he felt nights ago was rising again. It made his head throb and his fists curl. He felt sick and hopeless.

Raven’s expression was one mixed between shock and horror. “What?” She inched forward, her brows pushing together. “What did they say?”

“They were talking about how she is a Death Eater and—” He clenched his jaw and sucked in a few deep breaths. “I was trying to diplomatically tell them to fuck off, but they are so far up their own asses that they instantly assumed she must’ve brainwashed me into thinking she is a good person.” Raven let out a small choking sound, but made no other comment. “Fuck, it makes me so mad,” Bellamy growled. 

He pulled at his curls and tried to keep his emotions in check.

He wanted to scream.

Or punch something.

_Or punch someone. Again._

He ached to feel his wand in his hands, to fire a stream of curses at a practice target, to feel _something — anything —_ like he did in Kane’s gym.

“I punched him,” Bellamy continued. He needed to do something; talk, run, scream, _anything._ Anything was better than sitting there and doing nothing with his anger. He needed to feel productive. He needed to feel the slightest bit useful. “I punched Fred in the face. It felt good. _It felt so fucking good.”_

“Shit.” Raven’s expression remained blank.

“Yeah. Shit. _Shit, shit, shit.”_ Bellamy got up from the bed and began to pace around the room. The pain from his nails digging into his palm was sharp and grounding. He struggled to find the right words. “I feel so… so fucking _useless._ It’s unfair. It’s not right. And— fuck. The more I argued, the worse it got. The more I tried to prove him wrong, I ended up proving him right. Well, fuck, not _right._ But he thinks he’s right, and that’s basically the same fucking thing.

“He called her a Death Eater. I defended her. He accused her of horrible things. I punched him. He lied and manipulated the facts. _Fuck._ More like _he_ called her a liar and manipulator. Told me that I wasn’t to blame, that she was a dark and horrible person, that I fell for her performance. _Told me that none of it was real.”_

He let out a dark laugh. “That was the worst of it. They were reassuring me, as if I was getting upset because I thought they were accusing me of being horrible. They tried to make it better by telling me that it wasn’t _my fault;_ she’s just fucking monsterous. They kept speaking like they knew her so much better than I do.”

“They don’t,” Raven jumped in. She set her plate down beside her and moved to stand. “They don’t know her.”

“They don’t give a fuck. They _think_ they know her and damn anyone who tells them differently.” His heart was pounding in his chest, reminding him of the hooves of thestrals on the ground. His blood rushed through his ears. His body hummed with adrenaline. “They told me that she was deceitful. That she was a liar. That she was a Death Eater.”

“She isn’t,” Raven insisted, her voice rising. “She’s not. We know her. _You_ know her.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not… I’m not repeating what they said because I think there’s any truth to it. _There isn’t._ They’re making shit up or they have shitty sources. I’m repeating it because it’s so unfair and it’s so fucked up _and I’m so fucking angry._ They… They think they know her, but they couldn’t have gotten it any more backwards. And when someone who knows her tries to tell them the truth, suddenly _I’m_ the one that has been fed bad information? Suddenly _I’m_ the one in the wrong?

“She… They… Clarke and Murphy. They left their families. They left _everything they ever knew_ during this war. Not all Slytherins are evil and not all families are part of the Death Eaters, but both of their families are, and they both went through hell to break free from that. Not only did they realize they were wrong before it was too late, but _they left it._ They risked themselves to leave. And— fuck. Beyond that. _Beyond that,_ they’re fighting back. They’re risking their lives to provide information to the Order.” Bellamy’s chest was heaving. “And, what do they get in return? _Nothing._ Do they want anything? No. Clarke never wanted honour or acknowledgement. But I’m sure she would appreciate people _not_ lumping her in with her family. I’m sure… I _know_ she doesn’t deserve that. She doesn’t deserve people assuming the worst of her. She’s risking her life to fight this war and all she gets in return is hostility.

“And… I can’t even _do_ anything about it.” Bellamy clenched his fists and fought the urge to punch the wall inches away from him. “They think I’m under some dark magic for just _thinking_ she’s an okay person. They wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. They already drew a conclusion — they already assumed they knew what was happening — and they refuse to listen to any other perspectives on it. I told them that she was in the safe house with us, they told me ‘maybe you don’t know her as well as you thought you did.’ I told them she didn’t sneak out at night, they said ‘we wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t know.’ What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say when someone isn’t even listening?”

By the time he was finished, his chest was heaving and his ears were ringing.

Fuck.

He didn’t mean to rant like that. He didn’t mean to explode. He had been keeping it all in for a reason; he didn’t want to explode and lose it and—

“You’re right.”

 _That_ made his mind fall silent.

Raven took a step towards him, her arms crossed and a frown across her lips. “You’re right. They’re assholes. They don’t know what they’re talking about. They weren’t listening to you. That sucks — really sucks.” Then, without any sarcasm or judgement, “you have _every right_ to be upset and hurt and _angry_ over this.”

Tiredly, he ran his hands over his face. “I just— I don’t know what to do. The more I talked, the worst it got. _But I can’t just not talk._ I can’t just sit there in silence as they— No. I won’t.” Bellamy’s jaw rippled.

“I’m not going to either,” Raven promised him. She blew out a long breath. “I know… I know you’re _in_ love with her, _but I love her, Bellamy._ I love _both_ of them. I agree with what you said. They’re risking their lives, yet people on our side of the war still hate them. Even if they weren’t risking their lives — if they weren’t feeding information to the Order — I wouldn’t be able to sit by while people talk shit about them. It’s normal to feel like this.”

“Normal.” Bellamy hated that word in that moment. Nothing was normal about their situation. Nothing about it should be normal.

“Yes, normal,” Raven insisted. “It’s normal that we’re protective because _we love them._ It’s normal that we want to tear people who talk shit about them apart because _we fucking love them._ They’re our friends.”

Bellamy hated the way he laughed darkly. “What about _them?”_ he pushed. “Aren’t you friends with Angelina? With the twins?”

Her lips pressed together. “Sure, I know them and I would’ve considered them friends, but… Clarke and Murphy are more than that. They’re _family._ Fuck anyone else. I’d defend them in a heartbeat, even if that meant opposing people I once considered friends.” She eyed him closely. “You thought I would pick Angelina over them?” She couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice.

“No. I don’t know.” With the anger drained from him, he felt exhausted. Exhausted and defeated. He slumped back to his bed. “I just… I know you two were getting friendly, but I wasn’t sure if you were friends. You and Clarke, that is. I already know you and Murphy couldn’t stand each other.”

Raven let out a wet laugh and slid to the bed beside him. She rested her chin on her knee. “I care about both of them.” It was a simple answer, but he could _feel_ the sincerity in her words. “Clarke is… She’s great and I love her, even if we don’t always get along all of the time. That’s _human._ Same goes for Murphy. I… Fuck.” She pressed her forehead to her legs. “I care about him, too. Even if it doesn’t seem like it.” When he didn’t say anything, she continued.

“You were missing for weeks,” she said. “You and Clarke. We had no idea where you were. Harper and Monty, they went to a different safe house. I went to Diyoza’s because there was only one other person there. Before I was placed there, McGonagall told me that there was one other person in the house and that they were a troubled case. They had a hard time adjusting to a different way of life. They had a lot of anger. They were confused. Diyoza had been helping him. _Time_ itself had been helping him, too. But she warned me; told me that they might be difficult to live with.

“It was Murphy. Murphy… He was… He _is…_ Fuck. Murphy was struggling when I first met him. By the time I got to Diyoza’s, he had already been there for a while and he already put in weeks of work. _But he was confused._ He was lost on this side of the war and he was scared. And, yeah, we get on each other’s nerves, but… for a while… he was the only one that I had. We would stay up until the sun was rising just _talking._ We were both hurting and both lost and scared and… We helped each other. We were there for each other when it felt like nobody else in the world was.”

Bellamy hadn’t heard this story before. He had assumed they were in the safe house together, but he never realized just how close they had been.

“Even though we grew distant after everything, I would defend him until my last breath. I would defend _you_ until my last breath. _Clarke, Harper, Monty._ All of them. I would do the same for all of them.”

_Family._

They were all family.

That thought alone made his heart ache.

Between everything, he was losing his family. It started off slowly, at first, with the loss of Octavia. While he never considered himself close with Finn, he had to admit that his death impacted him. Then, Harper and Monty were pulled away and Kane was murdered.

_What started out slowly was quickly turning into a steady stream._

Now, it was Murphy, Clarke and Diyoza.

_Everyone he loved, he lost._

Everyone except Raven. Through everything, she managed to be the only one to stay at his side.

_He couldn’t leave her._

He wasn’t going to choose this — he wasn’t going to choose to leave the last of a family he built. He was going to stick with this family — even if that meant _one_ person — because he couldn’t do this without her.

He already lost so many people. He couldn’t lose another one.

Bellamy turned to her. “I’m not leaving.”

She straightened. “What?”

“I’m not leaving you.” He reached for her and took her hand. “We’re family. We need each other now more than any other time. I can’t — I won’t — leave you.”

She let out a laugh and squeezed his hand. “Good, because I’m not leaving you either.” 

“Listen… I don’t want to be here. Now you know why. I don’t want to deal with their judgement and their hate and stereotypes. _But I’ll stay._ For you, Raven. _I’ll stay because I know you want to stay.”_ Before she could protest, he continued. “I know reporting is something you’ve wanted to do for a while. I know you lost that chance at the _Prophet_ because of the war. I don’t want you to pass this opportunity up.”

“I don’t want to work with assholes,” she argued. “If they hate Clarke and Murphy — if they refuse to listen, then—”

“Then we _make_ them listen,” Bellamy vowed. As soon as he said it, a half-assed idea formed. “We… We could be the ones that change their minds. Isn’t that better than running? Isn’t that us _changing_ something rather than just ignoring it?” The more he spoke, the more sure he became. “Yeah… If we stay — which we are, by the way — then we’ll make them listen to us.”

Because, really, _that was what he hoped._ The night he arrived at the farmhouse, he hoped they would listen to him. He had hoped they would realize they were wrong.

Not just for Clarke. Not for Murphy either.

 _But for everyone else in their positions._ For everyone he had been wrong about. For all of the Slytherins who were trying their best in this war; for all the Slytherins who were written off as evil, but were good people.

Clarke. Murphy. Kane. Diyoza.

He could help people like Murphy and Clarke by talking about them. The more people who didn’t automatically trust or mistrust someone based off their Hogwarts house, the better the world would be.

“Some people don’t want to change,” she told him slowly.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want to change at first either, but he did. Once he saw the truth — once he saw evidence that he couldn’t dispute — his world came crashing down.

That’s what they needed to do. 

_That’s what he was going to do._

* * *

He missed Clarke.

He woke up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and his heart pounding. Instinctually, his hand reached towards her side of the bed, seeking comfort in her.

_She wasn’t there._

It always took him a while to remember that she wasn’t _there_ anymore. She wasn’t gone to get a glass of water from the kitchen. She wasn’t gone to tend to the fire outside of the tent.

_She was gone._

_Truly fucking gone._

The emptiness when he realized she was gone was always worse than the nightmares that woke him in the first place.

Quickly, he learned to stop reaching for her.

* * *

Bellamy couldn’t stop thinking of his argument with Fred.

After talking with Raven, some of the anger and heat he felt dissipated. Now, when he thought back to their conversation, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

_Clarke had been spotted in Knockturn Alley._

It was extremely concerning. Her last appearance was only a week before Diyoza’s was attacked and it was confirmed by three reliable sources. Bellamy knew Fred and he knew Angelina. They were both _so sure_ and _so confident_ with their knowledge. They wouldn’t have been so confident if the information didn’t come from someone they trusted.

It wasn’t Clarke. _He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t her._

Then who was it? Who looked like Clarke and hung around Knockturn Alley? 

Or, maybe Clarke hadn’t been spotted at all. Maybe their source was full of shit. 

Or maybe Fred and Angelina were full of shit and lied to his face.

_He wasn’t sure._

He needed more information. He needed to figure out who the source was. He needed more details.

As the days passed, he planned.

He knew he couldn’t just walk up to the Potterwatch crew and question them about it. They didn’t trust him — not after he attacked Fred — and they were _so fucking sure_ that Clarke was a criminal.

He’d have to listen and wait for the reports himself.

_Patience._

It was a quality he didn’t have a lot of right now.

He wanted to find Clarke _now._ He wanted to figure out why his housemates were so sure Clarke had been spotted in Knockturn Alley _now._ He wanted to know what was going on _now_ — not later.

_He didn’t have time for later._

Unfortunately, the universe didn’t care what he had time for.

He had to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait. im a MESS.
> 
> this chapter originally had like... 5 more scenes. but twitter dared me to post what i had 🤪
> 
> I hope you all are staying safe!! xx
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


	35. Chapter 34: Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to save this chapter as a buffer and pre-write a few more before posting, but. I think you all waited long enough for the previous chapter :) I don't want to make you keep waiting, especially when I have one ready to go.
> 
> Also, just so you know, there's mention of quite a few dates in this chapter. You don't need to look back at the previous chapters to establish a time line. If it is an important date, I've spelled it all out within this chapter. Of course, if you have questions, feel free to ask!
> 
> Thanks for all the love x
> 
> Enjoy!

**_BELLAMY_ **

_ March 28, 1998 _

* * *

Bellamy had never been on the opposite side of the radio before.

It was strange to think about. He spent hours listening to Potterwatch while at Diyoza’s. Every time one of their shows came on, they’d huddle around the small radio and listen. It was usually Raven who pointed her wand at the machine and said the password, granting them access to the only news source that told the truth.

_ And they listened. _

They listened to the crimes being committed across the country. They listened for the names of the dead that the  _ Prophet  _ decided not to include. They listened to warnings, such as the warning that went out about the taboo. They listened to people they grew up alongside dispelled rumours and calmed fears.

The show had been helpful. Without it, Bellamy was sure they all would’ve been lost when it came to reality. Apart from what they learned on Potterwatch, they learned from being on the run outside the safe house, which resulted in extremely limited knowledge.

Now, he saw the opposite side.

The first time Potterwatch did the show with him and Raven on the team, it had been over a week since Diyoza’s was attacked. To Bellamy, it felt like years.

_ Too much time had passed.  _ No news, no updates, no signs. The days seemed to drag by. Each hour felt like a week and each day felt like a month. It was a curse. Whenever he wanted something to hurry up, time liked to warp around it.

The only day that didn’t drag by was the day of the first broadcast.

The team - Fred, George, Angelina, Alicia, Lee, and Kingsley - had been combing through reports since they first arrived. They discussed the segments they would do on upcoming shows; they’d announce a reminder of the taboo, they’d do a segment of Potter Pals, they’d talk about the string of attacks in certain Wizarding communities. They never seemed to stop planning for shows, not even an hour before they were set to go live.

They had this down to a process and Kingsley made the plan clear. 

The day of the show, they’d put up as many wards as humanly possible on the property. One person would always remain on guard outside, watching for any signs that Snatchers or Death Eaters showed up uninvited. Once the show started, they had an average of thirty-seven minutes before an alert was given, notifying them that their signal was being tracked. They’d shut down their operation pretty quickly. Depending on how quick their alert was, they’d have between thirty seconds and five minutes to pack up their equipment and flee to their next location.

It was daunting. Not only was the process very specific, but they had no room for error, either. Cormac’s condition made that very clear.

Bellamy was also extremely under qualified. As soon as Raven heard the summary from Kingsley, she jumped in with questions.  _ ‘Have you tried this charm in combination with this rune? It might make tracking your signal harder.’  _ She was brilliant and a great addition to the team.

Bellamy - not so much.

It was fun. He didn’t really give a fuck. The only reason he was staying was for Raven and for Clarke. 

_ He was going to figure out the reports if it was the last thing he did. _

That night, he was put on watch. He sat, crouched against the door, his wand in his hand and a warming charm cast on his cloak and  _ watched.  _ He watched the stars. He watched the grass drift in the wind. He watched animals move through the yard.

He watched.

And he thought.

_ He thought about Clarke. _

He wondered if she was also looking up at the same sky he was. He liked to imagine that she was. 

He  _ hoped  _ that she was. 

He hoped that she wasn’t dead.

(Wasn’t it fucked up that this was all he could do?  _ Hope?) _

(Hope wasn’t going to save anyone but himself.)

(Hope could go fuck itself.)

Clarke couldn’t dead. She had to be there. She might’ve been hurt, but she escaped. He knew it. He could  _ feel _ it. 

He was so sure that he would know that she died. Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he have felt if she died or not? Wouldn’t he be able to tell something was wrong with the universe? Wouldn’t it be as obvious as the Earth slipping from its axis?

It had to be. He had to believe it. He had to believe that they were so intertwined that their magical energies became joined. He had to believe that he would’ve felt if she died. 

She couldn’t be dead.

_ She couldn’t be. _

The world was truly a fucked up place if she was dead and he could just go along and live his life. Her death would be monumental, earth-shattering, life changing. If she was dead, he should have felt it. He should have known.

Or, at least, that was what he kept telling himself to stay sane.

Bellamy was about to recast the warming charm on his clock when there was a sharp knock on the window. Raven cracked it open.

“Alarms are going off,” she said. She sounded too calm for the situation. Bellamy’s heart instantly flew to his mouth and his palms grew sweaty. “We’re packing up now and should be good to go in a few. Be ready.”

It took them two minutes to pack up the equipment and call him back into the farmhouse. During that time, he tried to keep his breathing even and his eyes sharp.  _ Constant vigilance. _

_ He was never a very lucky person. _

It seemed as though the fates were smiling on him; they left the farmhouse without an appearance from a Death Eater.

That night, he arrived at his fourth Order safe house.

.

Sinclair was nice enough. He used to own a broom shop in a small Wizarding village before the war. When he couldn’t stay open any longer, he donated the space to the Order.

The store was small and without any bedrooms. They wouldn’t be staying too long - not any longer than a week - but Bellamy was already seconds away from stunning himself.

Apparently, a part of the process that Kingsley never explained was what happened  _ after  _ each successful show.

A party.

Bellamy really should’ve expected this. At Hogwarts, the Weasley twins threw a party after every Quidditch match. Sometimes, they would only invite the team and close friends. If it was a big game, they’d invite the whole Gryffindor House.

Bellamy clenched his jaw and glared at the bottom of his cup as he drank. Over the past week, he had been fairly successful at avoiding the Potterwatch crew by sticking with Raven and in his room. Now, the lack of rooms was forcing him to spend more than three seconds with them.

He hated it.

Fred’s jaw was still bruised and he was pointedly avoiding Bellamy. Maybe it made him a bad person - he didn’t really care - but it brought him a sliver of satisfaction to see. 

The rest of the crew was wary of him, too. Bellamy expected as much. He knew that Fred and Angelina would’ve told their friends about their fight and about Bellamy’s  _ so very obvious  _ manipulation. Even Cormac, who was barely healed enough to sit, was watching him like he was seconds away from snapping.

Maybe he  _ was  _ seconds away from snapping.

“Fantastic job,” Alicia praised, pressing a quick kiss to Lee’s cheek. She slid into his lap, her arms looping around his neck. “All of you, really. You all did another fantastic show.”

“And we got out in nearly record time,” Kingsley stated, glancing up from a report he was reading. He lifted his glass of Firewhisky in a toast. “Here’s to the newest members of our crew.”

The toast that followed was very forced and awkward.

Bellamy downed his whole glass and swore under his breath.

Kingsley excused himself after the tension-filled toast, needing to link up with Sinclair and talk details. As soon as he left, the room fell silent. The tension grew. Bellamy wanted to hop on one of the dusty brooms and fly away.

“Raven, brilliant work on the rune modification,” Cormac praised, not picking up on the tension. 

His recovery had been nothing short of a miracle. While he was still covered in burns and clearly in pain, he was alive and talking. Whatever the twins and Raven managed to do to him was working, at least a little bit.

Bellamy wanted the shadows to swallow him whole. If it wasn’t awkward before, it sure as hell was awkward now.

He grew up alongside Cormac. Unlike the other members of the Potterwatch crew, Cormac was in Bellamy’s year at Hogwarts, which meant they split a dorm. They never got along - Cormac was too cocky and self-obsessed for Bellamy to handle on a good day - but he  _ knew  _ him. 

He knew how the man flirted.

_ And this was it. _

Bellamy recognized the exaggerated winks and the exuberant compliments easily. He had seen him flirt more often than any human should be subjected to. If there was any hesitation about it, the flirting attempt was only confirmed by Cormac coming up with every reason under the sun for Raven to keep talking to him. 

He got it. Raven was a good person. She was kind and filled with fire and full of life. And she was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that. He wasn’t attracted to her or into her-

_ But, fuck this. _

It was bad enough that he had to sit and be civil with this group after all the hurt and tension.  _ Now  _ he had to listen to Cormac try and flirt with Raven?

Fuck.

Fuuuuuuuck.

Bellamy rubbed his temples and tried to distract himself by counting the number of cracks on the ceiling. 

“I don’t think I met a witch smarter than you,” Cormac continued, his voice low. Bellamy fought a gag.

Raven snorted. “Right. Like you haven’t travelled the country with two  _ very  _ smart women.” She cocked her head to the side in mock thought. “Didn’t you date Hermione Granger for a while, too?”

“Well-”

“Well, it sounds like you have met  _ plenty  _ of smart witches.”

Cormac fell silent.

Bellamy hid his smile in his cup.

When he caught Raven’s eye, understanding passed between them. She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose - a move done so quick and so discreetly that he was the only one to catch it. Her displeasure with Cormac’s attention made his earlier annoyance turn to amusement.

Maybe he was a bad person.

He didn’t fucking care.

He was bored of being cooped up with people he didn’t really like. At least joking with Raven made it more bearable. 

“I thought you said that I was the smartest witch you’ve ever met,” George said, batting his eyelashes. “Or were you just trying to flatter me?”

“You know McLaggen,” Lee cut in teasingly. “He says that to all the pretty people out there.”

Cormac tossed a pillow at them and glared. “Fuck off.” He turned to Raven. “They’re being assholes, but it’s true. You’re brilliant.”

In response, she gave him a thumbs up.

_ This was going to be a long fucking week. _

Cormac grinned in what Bellamy assumed what he thought was a playful manner. “Oh, come on, Reyes. You know how it is.”

Raven lifted an eyebrow. “Come on, what? I know what  _ what  _ is?”

“You know.”

“Clearly, I don’t.” Raven sipped on her drink and eyed Cormac cooly. “I’m not really interested in knowing what it is either, just so you know.”

Lee saved them all from whatever Cormac was about to say by holding up his hand. “Before I forget, I wanted to mention that we need to modify the call-signal starting next week. Apparently, it’s getting easy to track. We’re going to have to start doing a combination, not a straight password.”

“A word and a number?” Angelina suggested.

“I’m thinking so. Anyone have any suggestions?”

Alicia snorted. “Whatever we pick will be better than this week. I swear, we’re all going to hell for using Sirius Black as the password.”

“Please, someone explain to me why the password this week was Sirius Black?” Cormac asked. “Sirius Black, as in the mass murderer that broke out of Azkaban and tried to murder us all a few years ago?”

Fred and George exchanged a look.

As it turned out, Sirius Black wasn’t actually a mass murderer that tried to kill them all a few years ago.

The revelation came as a shock to Bellamy. He was sick of his reality being ripped out from underneath him. He was sick of never knowing the truth. He was sick of always having to sit back and reevaluate his life after learning the world he thought he lived in was wrong.

Out of the many things he hated about the war, this was one of them.  _ Never knowing the truth. Always needing to be prepared for life to change in an instant. _

“He was innocent,” George concluded. “Sirius was a man framed for a crime he didn’t commit and people judged him harshly because of his family name. He was a good man and a good friend.”

Cormac snorted and reached for the bottle of Firewhisky. “That makes one of them.” 

Raven lifted an eyebrow. “One of them?” 

“The Blacks. That family is full of horrible and evil people. The whole lot of them are Slytherins.”

The room fell silent.

The air grew thick with tension.

Bellamy’s fists clenched. His jaw tightened. His gaze was drawn to Cormac’s. He could feel eyes on him, waiting for him to snap.

He cocked an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Cormac, the idiot that he was, didn’t seem to notice the sudden turn in the room, nor did he hear the hostility in Bellamy’s voice. He barely looked up from pouring himself a drink before answering. “It means that Sirius is the only Gryffindor out of the bunch and, as it turns out, the only good one. Figures.”

Maybe the Potterwatch crew had been right.

Maybe he had been close to snapping ever since he left her.

Maybe he had been teetering on the edge of a knife, waiting for the slightest breeze to push him over.

_ Bellamy saw red. _

It didn’t take much, just a few quick words from Cormac, but he felt his heart pound and heard his blood rush through his ears in response. 

“You’re implying something I don’t think you want to,” Bellamy warned, his voice low. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fred shifting uncomfortably. His hand inched towards the hilt of his wand in his pocket.

Cormac looked up from pouring his drink, as if, for the first time, he was realizing just how upset Bellamy was. For a brief moment, a smile spread across his lips, like he thought this was all a joke. 

Bellamy’s fingers curled into a fist in an attempt to stop his hand from shaking. 

Cormac’s smile disappeared quickly, being replaced with a look of defiance.

“Oh, no,” he said, his voice tighter than before, “I know what I’m implying. Slytherins are vile monsters.”

Is this what his life was cursed to be? An echo from the night he arrived? This same conversation, over and over, with nobody truly listening?

He didn’t care. He didn’t care how many times he had to repeat it. He’d argue this until his last breath.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bellamy insisted. The room remained quiet, the only sounds coming from his heavy breaths and his pounding heart. “You don’t.”

Cormac remained cool and confident - both of the characteristics that drove him fucking crazy while back at Hogwarts. He lifted an eyebrow and leaned forward.

“Oh, don’t I? Don’t I know that all of the Death Eaters come from that slimy house?” 

Before Bellamy could bite back again, it was Raven who was speaking. “But not all Slytherins are Death Eaters. And not all Gryffindors are good people either. There are criminals - and heroes - in all houses.”

Bellamy glanced in her direction. Her hands were shaking in her lap, too. Her eyes were filled with fire - a different fire than earlier. This one was hot and bright and  _ angry.  _ She was pissed.

For a moment, Cormac didn’t say anything. He stared at her in shock, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes wide.

Fred leaned forward, a familiar expression on his face. Bellamy recognized this from several nights ago; the anger, the determination, the disgust. It made his anger grow.

“Really? Then name one horrible person from Gryffindor. Name one Death Eater.”

Once again, Raven was quicker than he was. “If what Weasley just said is true, then Peter Pettigrew. He was in Gryffindor, wasn’t he? And he betrayed his friends for You-Know-Who.”

Fred wrinkled his name. “One out of many.”

“And Slytherins,” Bellamy hissed, “I can name  _ plenty  _ of Slytherins who are good people.”

“Right, Blake.”

Bellamy ached to feel his wand in his hands. Or blood on his knuckles. 

Steadily, he answered with the name that had been haunting his nightmares.

“Clarke Griffin. She was a good person.” He hoped they didn’t see his flinch. “Is. She  _ is  _ a good person.”

Cormac laughed - cruel and short. Bellamy and him used to get in fights before when they were still students, but  _ never like this.  _ He hadn’t heard him so cruel and cold before. It was another reminder that the war changed much more than he realized.

“She’s been running around in Death Eater robes  _ murdering _ people. I wouldn’t classify that as something a good person does. Unless… you think so?” he replied again, his voice remaining cool.

_ And this was it. _

The moment Bellamy had been waiting for.

The moment that he had been fucking patient for, even though his reserve of patience had run dry days ago.

_ This was it. _

It was at this realization that some of the anger and heat drained out of him.  _ He was angry, so fucking angry,  _ but he forced it back. He wasn’t getting anywhere by snapping and pointing figures. He wasn’t changing minds. He wasn’t learning about their sources.  _ And if he wasn’t doing that,  _ then what was the point?

So, he bit back his anger and put on a mask.

_ This was the only thing the war was good for.  _ Teaching him to hide. Teaching him to push his emotions back.

“If you’re so sure that is her, what is she doing there?” Then, he added, “what have your sources said?” 

Lee gestured to his bag, which Bellamy knew was filled with reports he received for Potterwatch. “You’re talking about Clarke Griffin? You’re interested in her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Fred commented, his chipper voice nearly shattering the composure Bellamy built. “He’s  _ very  _ interested in that one.”

“Shut up,” Angelina snapped, her voice reminding him of when they used to play Quidditch and she’d threaten the twins with detentions. 

“If you want to read the reports, I’ll get them,” Lee said. “I have to warn you though, they aren’t informative. If they were, they would’ve made it onto the show. We don’t have many details, other than she’s acting suspicious.”

Raven’s forced smile was eerie. “And here I thought Cormac claimed Clarke was seen murdering people in Knockturn Alley. Interesting. The facts are suddenly changing.”

Cormac huffed and glared. “I… I didn’t fucking say she was murdering people. I meant that Death Eaters murder people and she’s one of them.”

Fred jumped in. “You saw how Slytherin played Quidditch. If they can cheat doing that, they’re not above cheating in general.” 

Bellamy sucked in a breath and forced his voice to remain even. “I’ve been with Clarke for the last six months. You don’t know who she is. She has been giving  _ everything  _ in her to help end this war. She’s on our side, as are many Slytherins. The colours on their robes don’t mean anything. It doesn’t automatically mean they are evil.” He turned to Angelina, catching her eye for the first time in days. “Tell me. Has there ever been a time that you were scared?”

She hesitated at the change of subjects. “What?”

“I asked if there was ever a time in your life that you were scared? Were you so terrified that you couldn’t move? Was there ever a time where you hesitated because you were scared?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I know I have. There’s times where I  _ consciously _ have to pick bravery over fear. There have been times where I have been  _ so terrified  _ that all I wanted to do was turn in the other direction. Would you say the same?” 

“I mean… yeah. Being afraid is human.” 

_ Being human.  _ That was at the heart of the matter, wasn’t it?  _ They were all human -  _ not more or less prone to good or evil than the next person.

“Exactly,” he said. “Being afraid is human and it’s natural - even for Gryffindors. Bravery doesn’t always come naturally to us. I have to  _ choose  _ to be brave. It’s the same with the other houses too.” He turned to Raven. “Would you say that, sometimes, you have to remember to be logical?”

“Of course,” she answered without hesitation, catching on to his train of thought. “Being logical and calculated - those are traits of a Ravenclaw. But I still  _ feel  _ things. I still act with my emotion. Logic isn’t always my immediate response.”

“The same ideas can be applied to Slytherin,” Bellamy continued. “You say all Slytherins are manipulative and dark, but those things aren’t always immediate responses. There are times where Gryffindors have been too scared to move, where they couldn’t remember to be brave. There are times where Ravenclaws ignore logic. And there are times - often times - where Slytherins  _ aren’t  _ evil. Those traits don’t always come naturally to them. They have to  _ choose  _ to follow those traits; like us and choosing to follow any personality trait.”

Raven spoke up. “And those traits aren’t evil,” she stated. “Gryffindors are brave, Hufflepuffs are loyal, Ravenclaws are intelligent, Slytherins are - what? They’re cunning and ambitious. Can you honestly say you’ve never experienced that before? Can you honestly say your intentions and your motives are pure  _ all the time?  _ Have you never had goals - ambitions - just for yourself, not for the betterment of society or because they would change the world? Those traits - ambition, cunning - they aren’t inherently evil. It’s how you  _ use  _ them that can be evil. And after that,  _ anything  _ can be evil. The same bravery you Gryffindors cherish so much can  _ quickly  _ turn into something evil; it can make you ignorant and self centred and put others at risk.”

“Clarke isn’t a Death Eater,” Bellamy said again, his voice growing stronger than it was before.  _ This  _ was something he wasn’t willing to budge on.  _ This  _ was something he was willing to argue about until hell froze over. “She doesn’t deserve to have that said about her.”

Cormac’s nose wrinkled. “Your girlfriend is  _ one  _ of  _ many  _ Slytherins. Is she a Death Eater? I don’t fucking know. If she isn’t, she’s an exception. You-”

“Charmaine Diyoza. Marcus Kane. John Murphy.”

“John Murphy,” he scoffed. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t have black ink on his arm, you know. He’s a dick. In school, he’d follow Malfoy around like a lost puppy - always made me wonder if he had a brain of his own. Between his obsession with Malfoy and his daddy issues, I’m surprised-”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Raven snapped. Bellamy was surprised at how passionate she sounded. He knew from their earlier conversation that she cared about Murphy, but the fire in her voice - it reminded him that she had a bond with Murphy that he knew next to nothing about. “He might’ve been rough around the edges, but he at least knows his mouth from his ass, unlike some people.” Her eyes flicked up and down Cormac’s body.

“What the fuck, Reyes?”

“You’re miserable,” she said bluntly.

Cormac narrowed his eyes. “You know, I knew Blake was bat-shit crazy. I didn’t realize you were, too.”

“I don’t know your story, just like you don’t know mine, just like you don’t know his,” she said evenly. “This war is perpetrated by hate. What happened to all that love you talk about? About all that acceptance? Murphy and Clarke both deserve that just as much as we do.”

“You’re telling me that he’s not a Death Eater?” Cormac pressed. “He used to hang out with Malfoy, Goyle, Crabb - need I go on? They used to torment kids. They used to be so proud of their daddies. Never shut their fucking mouths about how they were all going to carry on the family legacy and get inked.”

“Trust me, I can  _ guarantee  _ you that John Murphy does not have black ink on his forearm, nor in  _ any  _ other place on his body.”

Cormac recoiled in disgust. “You’re sleeping with a Slytherin too? I thought Bellamy was the only one to think with his dick, but it looks like you’re thinking with your-”

The scene changed dramatically.

Bellamy shot up from his seat, intending to rush across the room and punch Cormac in his big fucking mouth - something he had wanted to do  _ so many times  _ growing up. Raven stood beside him, her hand curled into a fist.

As soon as they had moved, though, so had the rest of the room. George and Alicia stood between them and Cormac, while Lee grabbed onto Fred’s upper arm.

“Alright, let’s all calm down,” Lee said evenly. His hand flexed on Fred’s arm and he gave Cormac a hard look. “Kingsley left me in charge, and I’d rather not someone get murdered while I’m responsible.”

Cormac’s laugh made Bellamy inch forward. The only thing holding him back was his own restraint; he knew he could’ve pushed past George and Alicia easily. “Now it makes sense,” Cormac said, still laughing coldly. “I get it. You kept dodging me because you’re into greasy Death Eaters.”

Raven scoffed. “No, I kept dodging you because I’m not  _ fucking interested.” _

“You seemed pretty concerned about me the other day. What would your boyfriend say about that?” Cormac smiled. “Does your boyfriend know you were crying over me?”

Bellamy wanted to step forward and punch him.  _ He really did.  _ He wanted to tell Cormac to lay off. He wanted to tell Cormac to go to hell.

_ But he didn’t. _

Raven, of all people, could handle herself. She  _ liked  _ handling men like this - men that were so far up their own asses that they only saw their own reality.

And so he remained silent, ready to tear him down at any moment Raven asked him to.

“First of all,” Raven snapped, her voice low and dangerous. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t  _ need  _ a boyfriend to not want to have sex with you, just so you know. You’re an unappealing walnut all on your own. I was worried and  _ crying  _ over you, just as I would have done for anyone.  _ You’re not special.  _ Just because I busted my ass to save yours doesn’t give you the right to assume anything about me.”

Alicia glared at Cormac, her lip pulled in disgust. “You’re a pig, McLaggen.”

Before either of them could say anything more that they’d regret, Bellamy reached down and grabbed Raven’s hand, pulling her in the direction of the bathroom. Fuck not having individual rooms. He’d happily sleep in the bathtub if it meant getting away from this group.

Just as they were about to leave the room, he turned and addressed them all. “You all need to take a good look at yourselves. Being a Gryffindor doesn’t make you automatically right. It doesn’t automatically make you better. Just like being a Slytherin doesn't make you evil and monstrous. They’re brave, and they’re strong, and they’re loyal, and  _ smart  _ \- just like the rest of us. Clarke is a brilliant witch, just as Murphy’s a great wizard. But, you know, they shouldn’t have to prove that to anybody. Why are all Gryffindors given the benefit of the doubt, but Slytherins are automatically villains?”

“Also,” Raven said. “Fuck you, McLaggen.”

Feeling satisfied at those final words, they walked down the hallway and locked themselves in the bathroom. Only after the door was locked and the silencing charms were up did the tension bleed from Raven’s shoulders.

“Just… don’t. Don’t say anything. Don’t ask.”

Bellamy didn’t have to ask for clarification to know what she was referring to.

_ Don’t ask about anything, especially not if she was okay. _

* * *

_ March 29, 1998 _

The next day, Bellamy was reminded exactly why he was so disappointed when Angelina and Alicia graduated Hogwarts.

Him and Raven had claimed the bathroom and had been hiding out in it for the remainder of the night and the rest of the day. Because fuck everyone else and their bladder’s. They could all pee in jars for what they cared.

The two former Gryffindor Chasers knocked on the bathroom door around noon, begging to be let in. Bellamy left it up to Raven to decide if they should let them in or not.

“I’m so sorry,” Angelina said as soon as the door was open. Both her and Alicia were holding bowls filled with scrambled eggs. A peace offering? Bellamy wasn’t sure. “We both are. Yesterday got out of hand and-”

“Well, not just yesterday,” Alicia cut in. She looked guilty and - was it distraught? Bellamy couldn’t tell. “We… We both talked and we agree. We were wrong.  _ Are  _ wrong. We still are. We’re trying not to be though. And. Ugh.” She handed the bowl of eggs to Raven. “Sinclair doesn’t have any food in this place and Kingsley was only able to bring back a carton of eggs and bacon. George burnt the bacon, but-”

Raven took the offered bowl and cast a confused and concerned look in his direction. Bellamy followed suit and took the bowl from Angelina. Neither of the women moved to leave. The four of them stood crowded around the doorway, all looking very awkward and tense.

Angelina pursed her lips and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Okay, I’m just going to cut straight to the chase here, Blake. As Alicia said, we were talking last night. What you said, well, it made a lot of sense.”

“Our Hogwarts houses don’t mean anything. Not anymore. I thought - we thought - that we had left house rivalries back when we graduated, but obviously not.”

“What you said, Raven, about any trait being evil - that made sense. Being ambitious doesn’t make someone evil; it’s how they choose to act on that ambition and what their morals are that make them bad people.” Angelina shifted nervously. “I don’t know when it happened, or if it was always like that, but there’s this linkage between Slytherins and evil, and… I never stopped to really ask myself  _ why.” _

Alicia nodded and continued. “Yeah, and we’ve been asking others to challenge this idea of why. We ask wizards and witches who grew up in traditional Wizarding society to stop and  _ think,  _ to ask themselves  _ why  _ Muggleborns are considered so below them. We’re trying to get people to ask these questions because, so often, there isn’t a true answer. They can’t explain it. If we’re asking people to take a hard look at these preconceived notions and ask why, then  _ we  _ should be doing the same. It’s something we should take with us and apply to all our lives, not cherry pick it.”

“It’s unfair,” Angelina concluded. “We’ve been quick to make judgements on others and we never stopped to really think about it. Especially with this war going on… War breeds fear, and fear leads to people making assumptions and judgements. I’d like to think that there’s more to my identity than just my Hogwarts house. There’s more to me than just being brave. I see no reason why the same can’t be applied to others.” She glanced at both of them. “I owe both of you apologies.”

“And Clarke and John,” Alicia added.

“Yeah, but mostly to you both right now. I… I know what it’s like to have to listen to people hurting people you love and care about. I’m sorry that we put you through that.”

Raven reached for her friend. “Angie… Out of everyone, you two were the least rude.”

Angelina caught Bellamy’s eye. “Well… At the farmhouse, I wasn’t the nicest. I was trying to be reassuring and kind, but I can see now that I was the exact opposite. It must’ve been infuriating to have to listen to me try and comfort you about the wrong thing. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t too long ago that he was in their position.

The whole set-up of the situation was too eerie and it gave him an odd sense of deja vu.  _ He had been here before,  _ only, from the other side. It wasn’t too long ago that he stood on the opposite side of a bathroom door, begging for forgiveness for judging someone too harshly. It wasn’t too long ago that he had been  _ so fucking sure  _ he had Clarke Griffin and all the other Slytherins figured out. It wasn’t too long ago that he had been  _ so fucking wrong. _

And here he was.

The one standing in the bathroom.

He’d been in their position before. He’d been wrong. He’d said shitty things. He’d had the same assumptions.

_ Clarke gave him a second chance. _

He thought back to the conversation they had in the bathroom. He remembered all the mistakes he made, all the steps backwards he took. He thought about his peace offering with sugar quills. He thought about the forgiveness she gave him.

_ It changed his life. _

Bellamy had remained silent up until this point. Angelina and Alicia were looking nervously at him, waiting for his answer. 

“You don’t have to forgive us,” Angelina said quickly. “We-”

“No, that’s not it.” Bellamy swallowed thickly.  _ And, even though their arguments and sharp words hurt,  _ he said, “I forgive you.”

Angelina looked close to tears. “I just… I want to try, you know? To try and be better? To try and be a good friend - a good person - and make up for what I said.” Bellamy set down his bowl of scrambled eggs and reached for her, pulling her into a hug. “I’ll start by trusting your judgement. If… If you care and trust Griffin, then so do I.”

“Same goes for Murphy,” Alicia added.

“If you say that that she isn’t a Death Eater, I’ll believe you because I trust you. If you say it wasn’t her in Knockturn Alley, I believe you.” Angelina pulled away from the hug and swiped at her nose. “I’ll, fuck, I don’t know. I’ll investigate those reports for you.”

“Or you can,” Alicia offered to him. “Lee offered yesterday. If you want to read those reports, he’ll get them for you and we can look into it. We never did before because we thought her being in Knockturn Alley was congruent with her personality, but…”

Bellamy took a step away from the two women and glanced at Raven. At her nod, he turned back to them. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, we’re going to worry about it,” Angelina promised him. “We’ll-”

“We’re not staying.” Angelina’s mouth fell shut. “That’s why I’m saying don’t worry about it. We won’t be around much longer, so it isn’t worth looking into.”

It was something he had decided with Raven only hours before. Neither of them wanted to stay, not after what happened last night. Not only with the argument surrounding Clarke and Murphy, but because of Cormac. 

Mainly because of Cormac.

Bellamy never wanted to punch his ex-roommate more than he did last night. The way he treated Raven made his skin crawl. The way he so casually assumed she  _ owed  _ him something because she was nice to him made him want to get sick. The way he turned cruel and venomous when he realized she wasn’t interested in him made Bellamy want to stun him several times.

“We appreciate the apology,” Raven continued when it was evident neither of them were going to speak, “but yesterday was…”

Alicia shook her head. “No, we get it. I actually wanted to apologize to you about it. The way Cormac-”

“You don’t need to apologize for him,” Raven said quickly. “He’s his own person and is responsible for his own actions. You don’t need to apologize for what he did. If he regrets how he acted, he should apologize to me. But not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We asked him to leave.” A stormy look came over Angelina. “He was out of line and inappropriate and a dickbag. If he can’t respect you and can’t respect women, which obviously he can’t, he can fuck right off. The others agreed with me.”

“Kingsley escorted him out this morning,” Alicia added. “He’s gone. Good riddance to him. I’m shocked you didn’t curse him. I was tempted to pull out my wand and fire a few hexes.” She looked pensive. “Maybe I should have. Maybe it isn’t too late.”

“Regardless, he’s not with us any longer. It’s just us, the twins and Lee.” Angelina frowned. “I expect the boys will apologize to you both as well.” She sighed. “Listen, I’m not going to pretend we’re all equally to blame for yesterday. Fred was out of line - yesterday and last week. He’s… I talked to him about it. He’s stubborn.”

Bellamy crossed his arms, but remained silent. Angelina was right; George and Lee weren’t part of the problem, not like Fred and Cormac.

“We’d understand if you still want to leave,” Alicia said, “but we talked as a group. Angie, Lee, George and I are all relatively on the same page. Cormac isn’t something to be concerned about, obviously, because he’s gone. As for Fred, he promised he wouldn’t speak to you if you didn’t speak to him.” Bellamy rolled his eyes at that. “We’re willing to try to make this work. We  _ will  _ make this work if you decide to stay. I’ll assure that.”

With those promises in place, it was up to them.

Raven and Bellamy retreated back to the bathroom and their bowls of scrambled eggs to talk.

* * *

They ended up agreeing to stay.

The previous night didn’t change the fact that Raven had always wanted to work in news reporting. And, as she pointed out, this was the best place for them to be to hear information about Clarke and Murphy. Staying with Potterwatch was their best chance at finding the rest of their family.

Bellamy didn’t need to be convinced. If there was a chance at all - no matter how small - at finding Clarke, he was going to take it.

* * *

Lee was the first to apologize, quickly followed by George.

It was only after he was poked in the ribs by his twin that Fred apologized.

It was a start.

* * *

As more time passed, the more and more he liked Angelina and Alicia.

They were helping him comb through reports they had gathered over the last nine months in an attempt to find anything about Clarke, which resulted in them spending more and more time together.

He couldn’t help but talk about her as they worked.

He talked about the fire she carried. The love in her heart. The passion she brought. The compassion she had.

He talked about how his favourite colour was the colour of her eyes.  _ The blue of the sky and the blue of the sea -  _ they both paled in comparison to Clarke Griffin’s eyes.

It was easy to talk about her. His memories with her had been playing on a constant loop ever since he last saw her. Being able to speak about them - to remember the details - it made him feel closer to her. It made him feel like she was right there beside him again.

_ He tried to ignore the way it hurt.  _

Bellamy never imagined there would be a day that remembering Clarke would hurt, but it was a reality he had learned to live with ever since Diyoza’s safe house fell.

_ He missed her so much. _

Talking about her reminded him of the grief he carried. It reminded him of the fact he might never see her again. Being with the Potterwatch crew served as a constant reminder of the staggering number of deaths to come out of this war. It reminded him that she could be one of the dead.  _ Any of them  _ could be one of the dead.

It haunted him.

So, instead of thinking about grief and death, he thought about her.

He thought about the sugar quills exchanged between them.

He thought about the days he spent teaching her about Muggle superheroes, and how she pretended to be his wife when they first escaped to Muggle London.

He thought about practicing advanced magic with her, and just how brilliant and strong she was.

On the third day, Bellamy told them about his mistakes. He talked about Kane’s and how angry he was at the world - about how angry he was at her. It was easier than he thought to admit that he had been horrible to Clarke at the start - that he wanted her gone, that he didn’t trust her, that he assumed the worst of her.

_ Maybe it was easy to talk about because those were the things that had been weighing him down. _

It was freeing to talk about.

“The first night at Kane’s, I made her lift up her sleeve,” Bellamy said. It was freeing to talk about,  _ but he was still so guilty for it.  _ He was horrible to her. “I made her prove she wasn’t a Death Eater.”

Angelina choked on her spit. “Shit. And she  _ still  _ fell in love with you after that?”

Alicia whistled. “Damn, Blake, you either got game or you got lucky.”

He didn’t hesitate with his answer.

“I got lucky.”

Clarke coming into his life was just that. _Luck._

* * *

Bellamy had a  nightmare dream about her.

He woke up the rest of the group with his screams that night.

He was afraid they’d look at him in pity, that they’d treat him like he was breakable, that they’d judge him for it.

The next day, George gave him half of the sleeping potion he carried with him. At first, it looked like he wasn’t going to say anything to him as he handed over the vial, but changed his mind at the last second.

“We all get them,” George said. “Mine are bad.” He lifted the longer hair along the side of his head, revealing the spot where his ear  _ should  _ have been. Bellamy felt guilty - he hadn’t realized he was missing an ear. “Ever since this happened, they’ve been frequent. I just… I remember the flash of light and the burning pain and the  _ wetness.  _ For months, I’d have nightmares of the looks Freddie and mum gave me. They both clung to me and sobbed and  _ begged  _ me to hang out.” He swallowed thickly. “I think it was around Christmas time that I’d stop waking everyone up from my screams.”

Bellamy slid the vial back to him. “No, you keep it. You need it more than me.” Because his pain was from grief and fear; it wasn’t the same as George’s.

The red-head slid the vial to him again. “You don’t have to use it if you don’t want, but… Keep it. We all have our own demons.”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing dryly. “Too bad these are demons we can’t slay.”

Bellamy kept the potion.

* * *

Lee was right when he said there wasn’t much information in the reports.

Between the group of them, they managed to find reports on nine times Clarke was spotted in Knockturn Alley between November and March.

_ Nine fucking times. _

There were usually multiple witnesses for each date, but not many details were given. Between the few reports, they’d be able to piece together that it was Clarke who was spotted, but not much else.

He tried to remain as emotionally detached as possible, but it was hard.

_ It was so fucking hard. _

The more he read, the more he panicked.

The more he panicked, the more questions he had.

The more questions he had, the more lost he felt.

The more lost he felt, the more he grieved.

The more he grieved, the more he read.

It was a vicious cycle, one that he  _ really fucking hoped  _ to break.

_ Hope. _

_ He had to have hope. _

The first of the reports was the most detailed. 

_ November 29th, 1997. Clarke Griffin spotted in Diagon Alley in the early mornings, accompanying an unidentified man with black hair. Visited Goblins, Gadgets, & More. Exited to Knockturn Alley. Proceeded to Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary. _

The report made Bellamy feel sick, but for reasons he wasn’t expecting.

_ He knew this was Clarke. _

He knew that without a doubt in his mind because  _ he remembered that shopping trip. _

He was the unidentified male the report described.

This was the trip they took to Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley to get supplies to brew Polyjuice Potion. It was  _ terrifying  _ to realize that they had been spotted and watched during their adventure. He had been so sure nobody apart from the apothecary shop owner saw and recognized them.

_ He had been wrong. _

That thought alone made his spine prickle. It made him feel sick to his stomach. It made his skin crawl, as though someone was watching him right now.

Bellamy forged ahead.

_ January 5th, 1998. Clarke Griffin spotted in The White Wyvern. Ordered Firewhisky. _

The report was short and to the point, much like the remaining ones. He stared at the second report for a long time, attempting to do the math in his head.

January 5th.

That was the day after they arrived at Diyoza’s.

That was the day after Clarke infiltrated Hogwarts.

His stomach twisted. Clarke wouldn’t have returned to the public so soon after her fight at Hogwarts. Even though they hadn’t been on speaking terms then, he knew she suffered from several injuries from fighting Death Eaters in the castle. She wouldn’t have been able to fucking go to Knockturn Alley then.

He quickly flipped through the remaining reports. 

January 14.

January 26.

February 7.

February 16.

February 28.

March 9.

March 18.

Bellamy had to admit, he lost track of the dates while they were at Diyoza’s. It was easy to forget the days of the week and the dates on the calendar when trapped inside a house with nothing to do for the foreseeable future. All he knew was boredom and meals and the people he was trapped with.

The only two dates the he remembered were March 20th - the day Diyoza’s fell - and February 7th - the day that he and Clarke had the whole house to themselves.

_ February 7th. _

Bellamy stared at that report for a long moment. There wasn’t much to it. One person reported seeing a suspicious blonde woman walking around Diagon Alley, checking out abandoned shops. Another person reported seeing a Griffin. Another person reported seeing an old blonde classmate in Slytherin. It didn’t take many brain cells to gather that each person saw Clarke that afternoon.

_ But she wasn’t at Diagon Alley that afternoon.  _ He knew because he had  _ very clear  _ memories of how they spent that afternoon together, breaking  _ many  _ of the rules Diyoza implemented. 

How could she have been spotted in Diagon Alley at the exact same time they were kissing each other breathless in a safe house?

It didn’t make sense.

No, more than that.

It was impossible.

It felt like he was breaking through something monstrous in that moment. That what he discovered was so monumental that the world should know. The pieces of the puzzle slowly clicked together and, with each piece, his heart pounded harder and harder.

Bellamy glanced up from the report and locked eyes with Raven. She must’ve sensed his panic and had been watching him.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she commented. That got the attention of the Potterwatch crew. They glanced up from their own work to stare at him. “What’s wrong?”

“These reports.” He set them on the table gingerly. He continued to stare at them, waiting for the letters to morph and change before his eyes, waiting for the world to make sense. “They’re… holy fuck.”

He could barely speak, barely think,  _ barely breathe.  _ He felt distant from his own body, like he wasn’t attached to himself anymore. Was this what dying felt like? He felt like he was dying.

He tried to think of the right words, but was failing.

Finally -  _ finally -  _ he managed to suck in a breath.

Bellamy locked eyes with Raven.

“This isn’t Clarke,” he finally said. Her eyes widened. “The dates… They don’t make sense.”

She dropped the piece of equipment she was working on and came to sit beside him. “What do you mean? What’s up?”

He shuffled through the papers, his heart pounding. He could’ve very well just discovered the cure to death, he was shaking so hard. 

“Here.” He pulled up the first report. “I know this was Clarke because I was with her. This was between Kane’s and Diyoza’s. That’s the  _ only  _ report that makes sense.” He picked up the second report. “This one - see the date? That’s the day after we got to Diyoza’s. She couldn’t have left the safe house.”

“Yeah, Diyoza would’ve killed her if she left and she was watching you guys pretty close that day,” Raven agreed. He didn’t bother adding the fact that he knew she could barely move on that day.

He picked up the final report, the one from March 18th. “This is from two days before Diyoza’s fell. All of the reports between the second one and this final one, they all took place when we were at Diyoza’s.”

“Maybe she left,” Angelina offered. Before Bellamy could feel a sliver of anger, she continued. “I know the reports say she was acting suspicious, but maybe she was doing something… good? Maybe she went to these places to help someone?”

Raven shook her head. “She couldn’t have left the safe house and returned without either of us noticing. She wouldn’t have been able to sneak out.”

“Maybe she didn’t have to  _ sneak,”  _ George offered. “When I’d sneak out of the house to visit Katie, I’d go when people weren’t around. If mum was watching me, I obviously wouldn’t have left. But when she was busy with something else, or when I claimed to be doing something, I would sneak out and nobody was the wiser.” He pointed to the reports. “Maybe she kept sneaking out when neither of you were by her?”

“She didn’t sneak out,” Bellamy snapped. He blew out a long breath and tried to reign in his anger. “Clarke didn’t  _ sneak.  _ Alright? If she was going somewhere, she would’ve trusted me enough to talk about it.” He pulled out the report from February 7th and handed it to Raven. “Besides, I know for a fact that she wasn’t alone on this day. She wouldn’t have had an opportunity to sneak out.”

Raven scanned the report before glancing up at him. “That’s the day of the mission. The day Diyoza, Murphy and I went to the second safe house.” The corners of her lips turned up. “Right. Yeah, I’m sure neither of you were out of each other’s sights for very long on that day.”

“Why?” Lee pressed. “Why were you two-” He snapped his mouth shut. “Ah. Right. Got it. Moving on.”

Raven looked to Bellamy, her features a mirror of his. They both looked horrified and excited and hopeful and-

“It wasn’t Clarke,” Raven echoed his earlier words. 

Lee rubbed his jaw. “But if it wasn’t her, then what the fuck?”

It wasn’t a hard conclusion to make. The realization made his heart drop to his stomach and it made his whole body turn to ice.

“Someone’s impersonating her. Someone’s impersonating Clarke.”

* * *

With the one answer, more questions seemed to follow.

Who was impersonating Clarke? Why?

The reports were too vague to be helpful in that regard. Nobody else was identified in the reports; just her. Her specifics of her activities weren’t reported on, just the fact she was spotted and was suspicious. One report mentioned Death Eater robes, but that fact wasn’t backed up by other sightings.

If anything, the one answer made Bellamy feel worse.

His nightmares got worse.

The demons that seemed to haunt him at night followed him into the day, now, too.

The idea that someone was out there, impersonating the woman he loved, made his skin crawl. It was so unsettling and haunting that, honestly, Bellamy probably would've felt better if his study of the reports concluded that Clarke  _ had  _ been sneaking out from the safe house to attend to business.

Someone out there had a plan and, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out. They  _ had  _ to have a plan, otherwise, why would they be pretending to be her? There had to be a reason.

_ And fuck it all, but he couldn’t figure it out. _

_ That _ was the fact that haunted him. He couldn’t figure it out. Hell, he didn’t even have a guess.

And, unlike what he had hoped, the reports didn’t give hints towards her fate. He hoped that someone would’ve reported seeing her after Diyoza’s fell. At least that would’ve been helpful in letting him know she was alive. It would’ve answered so many of his questions and slayed so many of his demons.

Only, it didn’t. The reports stopped just days before Diyoza’s fell and he had no more information than he did before.

Which meant more questions.

More fears.

More grief.

More nightmares.

* * *

_ April 2, 1998 _

“No news.” Kingsley slid into the only remaining free chair in the building. He looked exhausted. Bellamy hadn’t seen him in days. “I’m sorry, Bellamy, but there’s nothing. Nobody knows anything.”

He tried to pretend his heart didn’t break all over again with the news.

He tried to pretend that his throat wasn’t tightening and tears weren’t threatening to spill over.

He tried to pretend that this was fine, when that couldn’t be further from the opposite.

“I’ll keep listening,” he promised. “The Order hears plenty of chatter. If someone sees them - either of them - we will be the first to know. I’ve planted a few lines and established a few connections. Hopefully those will flower and we’ll know more.”

Hope.

Bellamy was getting pretty fucking sick of that word.

_ Have hope,  _ people would tell him.  _ Be hopeful. Let’s hope that she’s fine. Let’s hope that we’ll get news. Let’s hope. _

He wanted to tell them to take their hope and shove it up their asses.

They meant well. He knew that.

But fuck hope.

He wanted answers.

He already had enough hope. He had survived this long, hadn’t he? He’d survived for two weeks without any answers, of course he had to have fucking hope.

It wasn’t enough. He needed plans. He needed answers. He needed concrete solutions.

“I want to go out,” Bellamy announced. He saw Raven’s head whip towards him and he felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t approached her earlier about his half-formed plan. Too late now. “I want to go back to the previous safe house and see if there’s anything that can give clues or hints or  _ something.” _

(Or closure.)

(He needed something that could provide closure.)

Raven answered before Kingsley could. “Bellamy,” she said slowly. “Going back to Diyoza’s might not be a good idea. We… We don’t know the state the house is in. We don’t know what we’ll find.” She swallowed thickly. “We might not like  _ what  _ we find.”

He knew the implications of what she was saying.

He might not just find clues at Diyoza’s. 

He might find dead bodies.

“Unless Clarke is sitting playing Mario Kart in her pyjamas, I doubt I’ll like anything that I find,” he replied. “I’m sick of waiting. I’m sick of not knowing. I need answers. Whatever I find there… well… at least I would have my answers.”

The universe owed him as much.

He owed Clarke as much.

Even if he didn’t like what he found at Diyoza’s, he needed to do it.

Kingsley must’ve sensed the determination within him. He didn’t argue. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. I’m going with or without your permission.”

The Order member let out a hearty laugh at that. “They told me you were full of fire, Blake. This isn’t a question about permission. I just need to make sure you’re sure with this.”

“I’m sure.”

He nodded. “Alright. Next Potterwatch broadcast then. Leave ten minutes after we start so the Death Eater’s monitoring the country will be distracted with us. As Reyes said, we don’t know what state the safe house is in and we don’t know what alarms they’ve put up. Use the broadcast as a diversion. You should be safe then.”

_ It was a plan. _

He’d go the next day while they were broadcasting and he’d meet up with the group at the next location.

No matter what, Bellamy was going to get his answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry @ Cormac, I don't hate you, but you were the easiest to turn into a dick.
> 
> Hopefully this chapter answered a few questions you have :) 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	36. Chapter 35: Chasing Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are additional warnings for this chapter, but they're listed in the bottom author's notes. They contain spoilers, so please only click down there if you're really concerned and need a warning. Of course, as I mentioned before, all levels of violence/gore/etc are matched to what is depicted on the show.
> 
> This chapter is quite jumpy, but that's due to the amount of time that passes.
> 
> Also - you might have noticed I increased the total length of this fic by one chapter. That's just because I can't count. There's 40 chapters planned, but I forgot to account for the art in the 'chapter 1' slot. Long story short, you all are getting one more chapter haha.
> 
> Enjoy!

**_BELLAMY_ **

_ April 3, 1998 _

He was nervous.

There wasn’t much he could do to prepare for the mission to Diyoza’s, but the wait made him feel useless.

It was as Kingsley said; he’d use the Potterwatch broadcast as a diversion. While he didn’t know for sure that Death Eaters were watching Diyoza’s, it only made sense. They had discovered a safe house; of course they were going to monitor it for idiots that came running right back.

_ Idiots like him. _

Except, he wasn’t an idiot. Or, he liked to think he wasn’t. He was running right back to the safe house, but he had a plan, and that was more than what most people had.

He’d meet back up with the Potterwatch crew later that night, no matter what he found. 

_ No matter what he found. _

Bellamy wasn’t sure what he was going to find. He didn’t want to think about it. Maybe that was irresponsible. Maybe he just didn’t give a fuck anymore.

He needed the truth, whatever that may be. It reminded him, again, when Kane was missing and he begged Clarke for the truth, when he begged her to tell him what would happen to him if he was captured.

No matter how bad the truth was,  _ knowing  _ was always better than  _ wondering.  _

He needed answers.

He needed closure.

.

The Potterwatch crew was frantic as they prepared for the broadcast. They were down one from their team, which meant the routine was thrown off. He helped as much as he could to try and take his mind off of what was to come.

Time ticked down.

He clutched his wand tighter.

He tied and retied his shoelaces a dozen times.

He kept checking his pocket for the small gold coil wrapped in cloth, charmed with the location of their next safe house. He could feel it sitting heavily in his pocket, a constant reminder that it was there. He didn’t dare run his fingers over the cool metal; a simple touch would pull him to the next location.

He checked his shoelaces. Again.

He tightened his hold on his wand to stop his hands from shaking.

Then, when it was four minutes until the broadcast was supposed to start, Raven sunk to her knees and cast a quick charm to his shoes. When she stood, she explained. “Sticking charm. So you don’t drive me crazy by checking them for the twentieth time.”

Bellamy hoped his smile was convincing. “Thanks.”

She lifted her eyebrows in acknowledgement as she tied her hair back. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the chaos before them, before turning to him again. “You ready?”

_ No. _

“Yes.”

They both knew he was lying.

Neither of them said anything.

“Listen, we gotta stay sharp and vigilant.” Raven finished tying her hair and turned to him, her expression fierce. “Before we go in, let me cast a few charms and see what monitoring system is put up. Then, we’ll—”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Bellamy lifted a hand.  _ “We?”  _ he echoed. “Raven—”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you honestly think you were going alone? Try again, Bellamy. We’re doing this together.” She locked her jaw and cocked an eyebrow — a silent challenge. “Remember? We do this  _ together.  _ You’re not the only one here trying to save someone you care about. They’re my family, too.”

He thought back to their conversation only a few days ago. How they promised each other they’d get through this together, no matter what. Where they talked about the safe houses and the people in them and how  _ they loved them. _

Raven loved Clarke, too, just in a different way than he did.

Raven loved Murphy in ways he didn’t understand.

“I’m coming,” she pressed.

He didn’t argue.

.

Bellamy recognized the Muggle street immediately. 

Nearly four months ago, he walked this exact street with Clarke at his side. The tension had been thick, drowning him, suffocating him. The silence was broken only by the crunch of their shoes in the fresh snow and the flicker of a dying street lamp. His heart had pounded rhythmically in his chest. His wand felt slippery in his palm.

It was almost as if he was right back in that moment. 

The only thing missing was Clarke.

The ground was wet from what looked like a recent rain. The water quickly soaked through his shoes and socks. Even with a warming charm cast over his Muggle jumper, he could feel the chill of the night seeping into his bones. He shook from a mix of nerves and adrenaline.

Despite having spent months at Diyoza’s safe house, he didn’t spend much time outside. In fact, he barely spent time looking at the street at all, considering the curtains were always drawn. The houses that lined the street were all nearly identical; tall, narrow, and close together. The red brick was familiar; it was the same brick that lined the entryway.

With each step, he grew more and more nervous. Raven’s words kept echoing.

_ They might not like what they find. _

He thought he had prepared himself for this moment. He thought that he was ready to face anything that came his way.

The closer the house got, the more unsure he became.

He was scared — so fucking scared. One image that had been haunting his nightmares and waking thoughts for the last two weeks was the image of Clarke’s dead body sprawled in the living room. It had been so easy to imagine.

_ What if he didn’t have to imagine it after this? _

What if his nightmares became reality? The thought of seeing Clarke’s lifeless body made his blood turn to ice, it made his stomach roll, it made his head spin. Dread clutched at his heart.

Raven must’ve sensed his descent into panic. She reached out and grasped his hand with hers, her touch strong and grounding.

She didn’t promise him they wouldn’t see something they didn’t want to.

She didn’t promise him that they’d find the answers they came looking for.

She didn’t promise him that everything was going to be alright.

But, her touch alone was a promise of doing this together. No matter what was to come, they’d face it together.

That was the promise he needed. That was the strength he craved.

Before he could even see the numbers on the side of the houses, he was able to tell which one used to be Diyoza’s. He squinted and stared for a long moment, waiting for the darkness to break, waiting for something to shift, waiting for the joke to be revealed to him.

Nothing changed.

In fact, the closer they got, the worse it looked.

The house that sat in the spot of 2199 Acores Street was barely a house at all.

He expected it to look bad, but  _ not like this.  _ The night of the attack was a blur. Bellamy remembered the sounds of explosions. He remembered how it rattled his bones and shook the air in his chest. He remembered seeing flashes of light as spells rained down on them. Glass shattered, and he assumed that meant the front window was blown in.

_ And screams. _

He heard screams.

Bellamy’s feet momentarily froze to the ground as he approached what he used to consider home.

The front half of the house was missing, a gaping hole replacing the front living room and kitchen. From the street, he could see remnants of both rooms — the darkened stove in the kitchen, what appeared to be a broken chair, the bare frames of the couches in the sitting room. Beyond that, he could see the staircase that led to the second floor.

The second floor looked relatively untouched. At least, the front half wasn’t missing like the main floor. Instead, it sagged towards the ground, no longer being held up by anything. 

The house itself was blackened like charcoal. What remained from the explosions was toasted black, reminding Bellamy of what sat in the pit of a hearth.  _ Fire.  _ The house had been burned — or, parts of it at least.

Raven let out a little gasp when she saw what remained of the house. She grew rigid beside him. The shock of the image petrified both of them.

Bellamy didn’t remember the remainder of the walk to the house. His eyes never left the broken structure. His mouth never formed the words rushing through his thoughts. His heart never stopped pounding.

He ducked under a line of Muggle caution tape and held it for Raven to follow. The whole yard had been blockaded by Muggle tape, but no police force remained. While he hadn’t seen it in action, he knew there was a taskforce of wizards and witches that were in charge of keeping Muggles unaware of magic, which included wiping memories and sending Muggle law enforcement away from a magical crime scene. He assumed that happened at Diyoza’s after the attack.

Before they proceeded, Raven checked for any remaining or newly erected wards.

_ None. _

It was as if no magical being had ever been here.

The ground was littered with debris. Large chunks of red brick for the house were scattered across the path. Mud was freshly upturned from the yard. Glass crunched under his shoe. Ash had been mixed with rain water, staining the concrete black.

Bellamy ran his hand over his wand, seeking comfort in the familiarity of it. He thought he would’ve felt comforted being back at Diyoza’s, but it was the opposite. He felt like a ghost walking through a shell of his former life. Rather, it felt like he was trespassing on something dark and forbidden.

The front door was missing, having been blown into a million slivers. Bellamy hesitated at the threshold of the house. All he needed was to take one step —  _ one simple step —  _ and he’d be inside.

_ It felt greater than that. _

Everything could change with that one single step.

He was almost tempted to turn back. The prospect of him seeing the horrors inside — the things he had nightmares of — scared him more than he let on. 

Bellamy’s eyes slid shut. He let out a shaky breath.

When he reopened them, he was filled with a new sense of purpose. He had to do this.  _ He needed to do this.  _ For Clarke. For Murphy. For Raven. For himself.

They all deserved the truth.

They deserved the peace that came with the truth and reality. He knew it could bring pain — he knew that ignorance was bliss, sometimes — but he needed to know. He needed to know so he could stop wondering. He needed to know so he could stop having nightmares over all the possibilities.

He needed this.

With those thoughts fueling his determination, he stepped into the house, ducking under a charred plank of wood.

He could see this hallway from the steps, but standing in it was something different altogether. From the street, he could pretend this was a photograph or a painting. He could pretend it wasn’t real.  _ He tried to convince himself it wasn’t real. _

But standing here — standing amongst the ashes of what he used to consider home — he couldn’t pretend anymore.

His heart was in his throat. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. His jaw tightened.

Raven’s shoulder pressed against his bicep. She lifted her wand.  _ “Homenum Revelio.” _ They both waited for a long moment. Their breaths were too loud in the otherwise silent space. His heart beat too wildly. When the spell completed, she nodded. “We’re alone.”

They might’ve been alone, but the house felt alive with ghosts. The life and warmth that had previously filled these walls had been sucked out, as if a Demontor had come and sucked the soul from the building.

What remained was a shell. Barely that.

Emptiness.

Cold.

Broken.

Bellamy flexed his fingers across his wand again. His body felt heavy with dread. His hair stood up along his neck. His feet felt heavy; each step more of a struggle than the one before it.

He didn’t know why he held his breath. He didn’t know why he strained his ears to hear anything. He didn’t know why his heart still felt light with hope — hope that Clarke would be fast asleep in the next room, hope that she would be okay, hope that he could feel her heart beating against his palm once again.

They inched further into the house, side-stepping piles of ash, fallen beams, broken glass, and chunks of rubble. 

_ Finally,  _ they stood outside the closed door to the living room.

His heart was beating uncontrollably. He could feel his pulse in his neck; he could hear the rush of blood through his ears. His hands were slick with sweat. His stomach felt heavy with anticipation and dread.

Without pausing, Bellamy turned forward and turned the doorknob. The door clicked and squeaked as it slid open.

He didn’t know when he shut his eyes. 

He didn’t know why, either.

Bellamy’s hand flexed against the doorknob, his knuckles straining against his skin. He sucked in deep breath after deep breath, trying to steady himself. His head felt fuzzy — too far away — too light.

_ He couldn’t do this. _

Just as he was about to stumble backwards, Raven let out a strangled noise and recoiled sharply against his arm.

Bellamy’s eyes flew open at that and he instinctively reached out to steady her. She trembled under his touch. Over her shoulder, he could see the destroyed living room.

Bellamy went stiff at the sight. His thoughts quieted to a hush. His breath caught in his throat. Time could’ve been crawling or rushing by — he wasn’t aware of it.

The living room, once put together into something he could call home, was shattered. Glass from the large front window was embedded in the opposite wall, seemingly having been shot across the room with great force. What hadn’t been embedded into the wall laid scattered across the floor. In a different situation, it would’ve almost been beautiful, how all the shards caught the moonlight.

The coffee table was mangled into a dozen large splinters of wood. One particularly long and sharp splinter was embedded in the couch, which didn’t survive any better than the table. Cloth was ripped, stuffing had blown into the corners of the room from the wind, parts of the wooden frame poked through the cushions in bad areas. The television looked more like a hollow box than a piece of technology, and, behind it, the wallpaper was twisted black from a fire.

Bellamy’s gaze was pulled around the room; his eyes darting from object to object, too quick to truly process. Once his gaze settled on one thing, it was quickly shifted to the next; each scene worse than the one before it.

Finally, after soaking all the destruction, his gaze came to rest on a large black stain behind the couch.

His heart plummeted to his feet and his throat closed around his breath.

_ Blood. _

It was a dried pool of blood.

He blinked.

He was beside the couch.

His feet scraped glass against the wood floor.

How did he get here?

He didn’t know.

His feet moved on their own accord. His brain refused to work, refused to think, refused to—

Suddenly, the black stain was much closer —  _ too close — too close — too close — too— _

—too real.

Faintly, he felt pain radiating up his knees and through his palms. Sharp pain. Cutting pain. It wasn’t anything compared to the stabbing that echoed through his body with every one of his heartbeats.

He couldn’t breathe.

The glass scattered across the floor cut into his skin. When did he fall? He didn’t know. Didn’t care.

Blood.

Blood oozed from between his fingers. The deep red was a stark contrast to the almost-black right in front of him.

_ Blood. _

_ So much blood. _

With a shaking hand, Bellamy reached forward, gasping. His fingers brushed against the ground behind the couch. The blood didn’t budge from the wood. He knew no matter how hard anyone tried to scrub at it, it would never remove the stain.

_ There was so much blood. _

“—ellamy! Are you listening?!”

His ears rang. The sound sharpened. Someone was heaving.

_ He was heaving. _

Raven’s fingers dug into his shoulder and he didn’t know if she was keeping him upright or keeping herself from falling over.

“Blood,” he rasped. “Why— why’s there blood here!?”

He already knew the answer to his question.

_ This stupid fucking question. _

It was  _ their _ blood. Maybe just his. Maybe just hers. He didn’t know. Did it matter? Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. It felt like it shouldn’t matter. It felt like he should be just as horrified about either option. He was.

(Did it make him a horrible person to hope it was his blood? That it was  _ only  _ his blood?)

(Maybe.)

(Maybe it made him a monster.)

(Then again, he’d always been a monster.)

“They were hurt,” Raven said, her voice shaking. It was then that Bellamy realized just how rattled Raven looked — when he realized just how hard she was trembling above him. “The blood — it’s theirs.”

There wasn’t another explanation. No matter how hard Bellamy tried to reach for one. He couldn’t avoid the truth.

It was their blood.

Her blood.

His blood.

Blood.

A lot of blood.

Raven’s grip loosened on his shoulder and she stumbled forward. Her white sneakers were a stark contrast to the darkly stained wood below her. Bellamy could only watch as she crossed the length of the room, coming to stop right in front of what remained of the television.

There, at her feet, was Murphy’s wand.

His eyes slid shut. His breath came out all at once.

_ Fuck. _

He heard Raven moving around. Her feet scraped the wood floor as she walked. Every movement echoed in the decimated space.

Murphy’s wand. He left his wand behind.

That meant—

_ “Clarke.”  _ Bellamy’s head whipped up as soon as he spoke her name. Raven turned to look at him, Murphy’s wand cradled in her hands and tears running down her cheeks. Had she come to the same conclusion he had? “If Murphy left his wand, that means… That means they used hers to get out.”

_ She was alive. _

A surge of hope crashed through Bellamy so strong that it made tears run down his cheeks.

_ Clarke was alive. _

It felt like his chest was caving in from the ferocity of his emotions. The world seemingly stopped spinning for a moment. Hell, the world could’ve ended, and he would’ve remained oblivious.

She was alive.

Before Bellamy could let out a relieved sob, he caught sight of Raven’s expression. Instead of the relief he expected, he saw pity and remorse.

“Bellamy…” she said, her voice cracking. “Bellamy, we don’t know that. We  _ can’t  _ know that.”

He shook his head. “No… No, we can. We know. We— Raven. There aren’t any bodies. There… Murphy’s wand. If they aren’t here, someone had to have Apparated them away. If it wasn’t Murphy, then—”

“No bodies doesn’t mean they’re alive,” she said. Their eyes met. A chill settled over him. “It just means they weren’t left here to rot.”

His stomach rolled. “No.”

“We both saw the lack of Muggle law enforcement,” she said. “The Ministry’s already been here. We don’t know what they took. We don’t know  _ who  _ they took — dead or alive.” Raven’s eyes swept across the space between them. “The blood… That’s a lot of blood. That’s too much for one person.  _ That’s too much for one person to survive.” _

“We don’t know it was theirs.” He was reaching — grasping at threads — threads that they both knew didn’t exist.

“It’s theirs,” she said, her voice watery. “Nobody else was in the house. The Death Eaters would’ve been in the street. They would’ve been in here.” Her eyes swept across the room again. “I… They must’ve took cover behind the couch. They were bleeding — probably from the window.” Her face pulled. “The explosion. It’s what we heard. That must’ve been the start of the attack.” Her chin wobbled. “They weren’t even given a fighting chance.”

Pain echoed through his chest like a sharp crack.

_ No. _

Except—

_ —yes. _

Nothing but the truth would’ve made Raven shatter like she did in that moment.

She fell forward, her knees buckling under her, much like his did moments ago. She clutched Murphy’s wand to her chest and  _ howled.  _ It was a primal sound. A sound that resonated in his soul. A sound he would’ve made if he wasn’t so shocked, if he wasn’t so  _ sure  _ this was wrong.

Wet.

His face was wet.

Tears?

He was crying.

Why didn’t it feel like he was crying? Why wasn’t he screaming like Raven? Why wasn’t he collapsing in on himself? Why wasn’t he breaking into a million pieces?

_ Why did he feel so empty? _

So distant.

So numb.

So broken, yet oblivious to it all.

Clarke.

Clarke was dead.

He screamed.

.

They arrived at the next safe house; an abandoned building on the outskirts of a Wizarding village. If someone were to ask him what the building looked like, he wouldn’t have been able to answer.

All he knew was this:

Pain.

_ So much pain. _

Breathing.

_ A struggle. _

Gasping.

Anger.

_ So much anger. _

Anger at the world, anger at himself.

Regret.

_ So much regret. _

All he knew was the bathroom he had shut himself into. The hot water slowly bled out, turning icy. His clothes clung to his body. Blood from his wounds spiralled down the drain.

He didn’t care.

He pressed his wrinkled fingers to the snake pendant and brought it to his forehead. He panted rhythmically. Water dripped from his curls down his face, masking his tears.

It was when he was lying on the cool wood floor of Diyoza’s wrecked house that he found the snake pendant.

Bellamy’s arms had buckled under him what felt like hours earlier. Maybe it had been hours. Maybe minutes. Seconds. He didn’t know then, he didn’t know now.

With his cheek against the floor, he had seen what remained under the couch. Glass shards. Wood splinters. Springs loose from above. Stuffing. And this.

Her pendant.

Now, he held it as tight as he could manage, his blood smearing across the metal snake, mixing easily with the dried blood caked on the metal.

_ Clarke. _

_ It was Clarke’s blood. _

She was gone.

The blood confirmed that, even though he tried to argue it. The fact Murphy’s wand was left behind confirmed it — if he hadn’t been hurt, he would’ve taken it with them. Hell, he knew Clarke would’ve taken it too, if she was able to. The lack of bodies confirmed it, too.

_ Clarke was dead. _

His heart clenched painfully at the thought of her name.

_ She was gone and he couldn’t do anything about it. _

He clutched her snake pendant to his chest, much like how Raven clutched Murphy’s wand earlier. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He thought back to the first time they met at a safe house, back at Kane’s. He wished he could go back in time and re-do all those moments with her. He wished he wouldn’t have wasted that time then. Wished he would’ve loved her sooner, loved her harder. Wished he would’ve said fuck it all to expectation and reputation and stereotypes. Wished he would’ve kissed her when they were inches away in the bathroom, wished he would’ve told her he loved her as soon as he realized, wished he would’ve kept his promise.

_ He was supposed to keep her safe. _

It was a promise he made, back in Kane’s kitchen. She trembled when she spoke about her mother. She was terrified. He had promised her that nothing would happen to her. He promised her that he’d keep her safe, even though they both knew she didn’t need it.

_ Except, maybe she did, because she was fucking dead and he was fucking alive. _

He had plenty of experience being the one that survived. He was personally familiar with survivor’s guilt. He knew the pain that came along with being the one that survived. No matter how many times he had experienced it, it felt as strong and as suffocating as the first time.

Nothing would dull this pain.

_ This grief. _

Bellamy sucked in breath after breath.

He used to hate snakes. He used to hate Slytherins. He used to hate her.

_ He was fucking stupid. _

He couldn’t survive without her. He couldn’t imagine a life without her.  _ He didn’t want to. _

Except, he had to.

_ She wasn’t coming back. _

It hurt.

_ It hurt so fucking bad. _

That night, he fell asleep under the steady stream of cold water.

.

When he woke up, he was shivering.

The constant and comforting patter of water from the showerhead had disappeared. It was the first thing he noticed. His skin didn’t tingle with the numbness of water pressure, blocking out the gnawing pain that was quickly spreading from his chest.

The next thing he noticed was Raven.

She sat on the edge of the bathtub, her face blotchy and her eyes red-rimmed. She must’ve been crying as long as he had.

When he tried to speak, he found he couldn’t. Maybe he wouldn’t. His throat was dry — ironic, considering he had fallen asleep with the water running. His lips felt like sandpaper. His eyes felt swollen. Maybe he had cried so much that all the water left his body. The splitting headache sure as hell felt like it.

Raven handed him a towel without another word. He held it numbly in front of him, not quite sure if he wanted to move just yet. She watched him, her eyes sharp.

Neither of them spoke.

Bellamy finally caved. He wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

Raven stood.

He managed to find the words before she could open the door.

“You were in love with him,” he said, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “You were in love with Murphy, weren’t you?”

Raven froze. For a long moment, Bellamy was sure he fucked up, he was sure he said something wrong.

Then, she turned to him, her expression one of stone.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” She swallowed thickly. “He’s gone.”

_ No,  _ Bellamy thought desperately.  _ It matters.  _

_ Loving someone matters.  _

* * *

He wasn’t sure how many days passed when he truly fell apart.

It was when he realized that  _ this was it  _ that it felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest.

_ The end. _

He thought those words weren’t supposed to come until their story was over, yet, here they were before he was ready for them.

It hit him hard. Every moment he ever shared with Clarke — every moment he ever  _ would  _ share with her — had already happened. He wasn’t getting any more with her. There wouldn’t be another morning that he’d wake up beside her; there wouldn’t be another night they’d curl together under the covers; there wouldn’t be another time they’d look up at the stars; there wouldn’t be another opportunity to beat her at Mario Kart, or teach her about  _ Superman,  _ or teach her how to cook.

_ It was done. _

It was a chapter of his life closed.

_ She was much more than a chapter.  _ She was it; a whole fucking story, a whole fucking book, a whole fucking series. She deserved to be a trilogy, deserved to be an epic written by Homer, deserved to be a story told for generations.

She didn’t deserve to die.

_ She shouldn’t have died. _

He wanted to scream.

Blame.

Was that part of the healing process?

He didn’t know.

But he blamed himself. He should’ve been there. He should’ve been with her when it happened. He should’ve kept his promise to her, kept her safe.

The anguish was like poison, curling into his bones, running with his blood, making him boil and burn and wither with pain. Heartbreak was too kind; it was a complete and utter decimation of the soul, of the heart, of the mind.

Maybe he was wrong before.

Maybe no answers were better than these answers.

* * *

When he was woken up by a sharp knock on his bedroom door, he didn’t expect it to be Lee. He pushed the door open before he could tell him to fuck off and entered with Raven on his heels.

“Lee, I swear on all things good, if you—”

That got Bellamy’s attention quickly.

He pulled himself upright, the blanket tumbling to the ground. Clarke’s snake pendant was warm against his chest, where it hung on a new chain just under the hem of his shirt, out of sight from prying eyes.

Lee was out of breath and gasped for air. Raven stood beside him, looking just as windblown as he did. Her hair had come loose from her ponytail and her cheeks were tinted red. They’d rushed here?

“Bellamy,” Lee gasped. He waved his hand. The papers he clutched rattled as they caught on the air. “Fuck. Just. Read.”

Raven dove forward before he could grab the papers from his outstretched hand. She narrowed her eyes at Lee and batted Bellamy’s hand out of the way.

“No!” she snarled. “You’ll make things worse.”

“You would want to know if you were in his position.”

“You’re wrong. Don’t do this. Walk away, Lee, before—”

“He has the right to know!” Lee snatched the papers back from Raven. Bellamy was slow to respond, still caught up in sleep. “You were right earlier; I don’t know him like you do, but I know this.  _ He deserves to at least read the reports and make a decision for himself.” _

Bellamy’s heart stopped beating at those words. A chill washed over him.

“Reports?” he questioned.

He stood and reached for the papers clutched between the two. 

_ He didn’t hesitate.  _ Maybe he should have. Maybe he should’ve taken note of the desperation in Raven’s eyes. Maybe he should’ve trusted her judgement.

Lee passed him the reports. He felt Raven’s eyes on him as he read the pages. 

_ March 20th. _

_ March 30th. _

The two dates stared back at him. It took him a long moment to realize what these dates were.

_ Sightings. _

Another chill washed over him, this one worse than the first. 

There were more details than the papers he read a few days ago, but still not enough.

_ March 20th — Knockturn Alley. Griffin woman. Unidentified man. Spotted in front of The White Wyvern pub running eastbound. _

_ March 30th — Knockturn Alley. Griffin woman. Unaccompanied. Death Eater regalia; black robes, silver mask.  _

Bellamy stared at the dates. Seconds passed. They bled into what he was sure was minutes. His hands shook.

Both of those dates were after Diyoza’s fell.

Both of those dates were after Clarke supposedly died.

Bellamy locked eyes with Raven, panic and fear and  _ hope  _ hitting him hard. He gasped for breath. He dug his free hand into his sheets, desperate to ground himself.

“She’s…. She’s  _ alive!?” _

Next was a wave of betrayal. Raven didn’t want to tell him. Raven had begged Lee to keep the reports from him. Raven had—

“Bellamy…” Raven looked at him, pitying him. He hated it. He hated the way she spoke to him like he was going to break at any second. He hated how it felt like she treated him like a skittish animal. “Lee, this is why—”

“She’s alive.” Bellamy lifted the papers, his heart pounding in his chest. “We were attacked on March 20th. If she was spotted after that, then she has to be alive. She’s—”

“—being impersonated,” Raven reminded him gently. Bellamy faltered at that. “We knew from the previous reports that someone is out there pretending to be her.” She reached for him. “This…. This doesn’t change anything.”

He pulled away. “Yes, it does.” He shoved the report in her direction. “It… It has to mean something.” He locked his jaw, determined. “Even if this isn’t her — even if it’s someone pretending to be her, like before — that means she’s still alive. They don’t know she’s dead! If… If she was dead, they wouldn’t keep pretending to be her.”

Raven shared a long glance with Lee before turning back to him. “Bellamy…”

He snapped.

“Don’t do that,” he growled. Raven’s eyes widened. “I’m not  _ broken,  _ okay? Don’t pity me.” He rattled the papers. “I’m not fucking seeing things. She has to be alive, right? It makes sense!”

It was the only thing that made sense.

It had to be right.

_ It had to be. _

“Listen, mate,” Lee said slowly. “Your girl was being impersonated and she clearly still is. This person — whoever they are — might not know anything about Griffin’s fate. Hell, they might not care! We don’t know why they’re wearing her face — we just know that they are.”

“Lee’s right,” Raven pressed. “We don’t know who is impersonating her and we don’t know why. This doesn’t mean she’s alive. It just means that they don’t know she’s dead. That, or they’re using the fact that her death is not public knowledge.”

No.

Bellamy couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that this was it. He couldn’t believe that this trail led here.

He could feel it in his soul. There was something more going on. He couldn’t explain it — not to himself, not to them — but he knew. 

(Maybe it was denial.)

(Maybe he was desperate for an answer that he liked.)

(Maybe he wanted to take back the answers that he found.)

(Maybe he wanted to play pretend for a while.)

Lee’s expression was tight. “We were thinking…. if we announce her death on Potterwatch this week, then people will know something’s amiss when they see the impersonator out there. It could stop whatever plan they have. It could—”

“No.”

Lee’s eyebrows raised. “No?”

Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “No. We’re not adding her name to the list of the dead— because she’s not fucking dead.”

Raven stepped forward. He stepped back. “Bellamy—”

He lifted the reports. “This is proof!”

“This is nothing!” Raven flinched from the volume of her own voice. Her expression softened. “I want them to be alive just as much as you do. I miss them. I want them to be okay. But this doesn’t change—”

“Fine,” he snapped. He crossed his arms. “Clarke’s dead. Is that what you want me to say? That her and Murphy died horrible deaths all alone because we were too busy saving our own asses to care about theirs?”

He knew he hit her where it hurt. Her eyes shone with tears. “We  _ always  _ cared about them,” she insisted. “When it mattered, we cared.”

When it mattered.

Didn’t it always matter?

“Whatever.” 

Bellamy tried to push aside his anger, but found he couldn’t. He didn’t know what or who he was mad at. All he knew was that his heart was pounding and his blood boiling.

Raven turned to Lee. “See? I told you—”

“No,” Bellamy cut in, his voice sharp. “I’m glad Lee told me. At least I know I can trust one person in this fucking house.” Before Raven could argue, he continued. “Even though this changes nothing and Clarke is still dead, I’m  _ glad  _ he brought this to my attention.” The parchment crumpled under his grip. “Whoever this is — whoever’s impersonating her — I’m going to find them and I’m going to get my answers. Then, I will kill them.”

* * *

They let him be.

While his words were sharp, the message rang true.

He was going to figure out who was impersonating Clarke and he was going to find out why.

And, after it was all said and done, he would make them pay.

Whoever they were, they were disrespecting her. They were causing people to fear her. They were causing people to fear her face and her name.

She didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t know where the cold vengeance that filled him came from. He didn’t know if it was a distraction from the pain, or if it was because he was desperate for better answers, or—

_ —or if he had more hope than he realized. _

Despite all the evidence against it, a small part of him believed that Clarke was out there.

An even smaller part of him believed he could find her using these reports. 

* * *

_ April 10, 1998 _

The first time he met the Potterwatch reporter with the nickname Romulus was on Friday, a week after visiting Diyoza’s.

The shift in the wards came while Bellamy was on watch. The weekly broadcast had been going on for a solid ten minutes on the other side of the door he leaned against. In the silent night, he could hear Lee and the Weasley twins exchanging banter about the use and misuse of shielded items.

He grew stiff when he felt the wards shift. The action wasn’t as violent as it was weeks ago at Diyoza’s. No, they weren’t completely decimated. It was simply a wave of magic that stretched across his skin.

Someone new had entered the warded area.

He pushed himself upright and scanned the dense forest only a few feet away from the house. The curves of the trunks made his heart pound, each one looking more and more like a billowing black cloak.

Several feet away, someone burst through the tree-line, their robes skewed and their hair messy. Through the darkness, Bellamy recognized him as an old professor from Hogwarts. He had more scars and more grey hair than he did four years ago, but it was unmistakably him.

Bellamy took a few steps forward, his wand in his hand and his heart in his throat. They met half-way, both of their wands pointed in each other’s direction.

“Prove yourself,” Bellamy ordered. “Who are you?”

“Remus Lupin.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Although, you would know me by  _ Professor  _ Lupin, wouldn’t you, Bellamy?” Neither of them lowered their wands, waiting for each other to pass the safety precautions. He knew the drill and kept speaking. “Your Boggart was of your sister dying. That was one of the only tests you failed in my class. You were a top student, always fighting to prove something, always—”

“Alright,” Bellamy said, cutting him off. He lowered his wand. “I don’t know how to prove my identity other than to tell you I’ve heard you on Potterwatch a few weeks ago. I’m a friend of the resistance.”

That seemed to be enough for Lupin. He lowered his wand. “Sounds like you’re more than just a friend. You’re a wanted man, Bellamy. You must’ve really pissed off some Death Eaters to get that high of a bounty on your head.” 

“I seem to be really good at pissing off Death Eaters.”

Lupin didn’t say anything to that, clearly too panicked and frantic to really listen. He pointed a scarred finger towards the house. “Are they in there?”

“They’re on air.”

Lupin swore and stowed his wand, trading it for a piece of crumpled parchment. “A new report. Urgent. Would be breaking news if— if you weren’t already doing a show.” The paper was shoved into Bellamy’s hands. The older Order member was out of breath and already stumbling away. “Take it. Report it. I’ve got to go. My wife—”

Bellamy didn’t need the details. His eyes were scanning the words on the page and the remainder of the world grew far away.

“I’ve got this,” he distantly felt himself say. “Go. Be with your family.”

(He sure as hell wished he could be with his.)

**_BREAKING NEWS_ **

_ Eyewitness describes a large fire outside of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary in Knockturn Alley. Fire was lit ten minutes after five by two individuals in grey cloaks. A Death Eater squad arrived at half-after five.  _

_ Damage only done to surrounding empty shops and countless copies of “Muggles: An In-Depth Study of Vicious Creatures & Animals,” which were used to start the fire. _

_ No injuries or deaths reported as of yet. _

_ We are advising the general population to stay away from Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley until the fire is controlled. _

Something heavy sat in Bellamy, dragging him down deeper and deeper. He stumbled forward, his eyes still glued to the rushed and loopy handwriting of his professor.

Someone was burning books in Knockturn Alley. He wasn’t familiar with the title, but the message was clear enough. This must’ve been one of the propaganda-filled textbooks from the Muggle Studies classes at Hogwarts.

What was the point? What did these people gain from burning textbooks and a shop? If nobody got hurt and if none of the shops were still open, that meant there wasn’t a target. There wasn’t a goal with this destruction. Unless—

_ —unless it was a demonstration. _

Unless whoever did this was doing it to send a message.

Raven was the first to see him. She yanked the Muggle headphones off of her head and stood abruptly, her eyes wide and concerned. This caused a ripple effect through the room. Angelina and Alicia both stopped what they were doing, their hands frozen on dials, their wands held still against the equipment. The three on the air — Lee, George, and Fred — all stumbled over their sentences and grew silent.

He stared back at them for a long moment.

The silence was filled with static from the radio equipment.

Nobody moved.

It was Lee who leaned forward, his eyebrows behind his hair, and spoke into the microphone. “Hold on there, folks, we’re receiving an important update from our reporters in the field.” Bellamy was neither a reporter or in the field, but he said nothing.

“What is it?” Angelina asked, having been closest to the door. She leaned over his arm and read the note. She sucked in a quick breath as she read.

Bellamy cleared his throat and lifted the sheet of paper. “Breaking news from…” He strained his memory to remember the codename he knew was assigned to his professor to protect his identity on the show. “Breaking news from Romulus.”

Lee leaned back into the microphone. “Uhm. Alright. This calls an end to our regularly scheduled programming, folks. We have some breaking news to share on tonight's Potterwatch; a report delivered by…” He leaned away from the mic. “What’s his name?”

Bellamy scowled. “You’re fucking kidding me—”

“Rubicon,” Raven said, cutting him off. “He’s Rubicon.”

Lee pressed the mic again. “We have a breaking report from a new friend of Potter’s; Rubicon!”

Bellamy stepped away from the microphone, his hand with the paper outstretched towards somebody —  _ anybody.  _ “No! I’m not—” George unclipped his microphone from his stand and tossed it towards Bellamy. His instincts from Quidditch took over and he caught it with ease. “Fuck—”

“Hey, now,” Lee chastised. “You’re on air, Rubicon. Lay it on us.”

George sent him a thumbs up. Bellamy flipped him off.

“Just read the fucking paper,” Angelina commanded. Bellamy forgot how scary she could be when she wanted.

George mimicked pushing the button on the microphone, as if his actions were helpful. Bellamy flipped him off again, for good measure.

Then, he pressed the button along the side of the mic and held it close to his lips. His eyes flicked across the room before darting back to the paper. “This is Rubicon with breaking news. We have just received a report of Death Eater activity in Knockturn Alley.” He proceeded to read the report clutched in his hands, trying to keep his voice from coming out breathless.

George looked as shocked as Angelina did. Lee used the silence to his advantage. “An uprising,” he concluded, his voice awed. Bellamy’s stomach swooped from the implications of his words. “We have received a report of an  _ act of resistance  _ in progress!”

They were quick to launch into a debate after the report. Their words of encouragement and praise for the cloaked figures who burnt the books rang just as clear as warnings to stay away and to stay safe.

“While we always encourage fighting the good fight, we do  _ not  _ encourage vigilantism,” Lee stated. “Try smaller acts of fighting back. Protect a Muggle neighbour. Keep watch over a Muggleborn friend. Offer to go into town for your friends who might just catch the eye of certain Snatchers and Death Eaters.”

Angelina shot up, her eyes wide, and gave the signal to wrap up the broadcast.

“That’s all for this week, folks,” Lee said smoothly. The rest of the room quickly descended into chaos — each person hurrying to pack their assigned equipment. “This is your host, River, signing out. Be well. Be kind. Stay safe.”

.

It was hours later and at the next safe house that Bellamy truly began to wonder.

Bellamy didn’t care that it was dangerous. He needed to breathe. He needed room to think.

He had been crowded in with half a dozen other magical beings for  _ weeks,  _ ever since he escaped Diyoza’s with Raven. While they’d grown more civil towards each other and had dropped hostilities long ago,  _ he felt suffocated. _

Which was how he found himself on the wooden steps of the most recent safe house they were occupying. The wards were up. The night was silent. The sun had long set. Screw protocol; he needed time to think.

That breaking news report made his spine prickle and he couldn’t put a finger on why for the longest time.

_ Until now. _

The report he still clutched felt like a distant echo of his life.

The act of resistance, as George called it, was burning hate-filled textbooks in Knockturn Alley, outside of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary.  _ The same apothecary that he and Clarke blew up when they were attempting to get ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion.  _ The textbooks — Muggles: An In-Depth Study of Vicious Creatures & Animals” — were books for the Muggle Studies class at Hogwarts, the same class that Octavia was in when  _ she  _ committed her act of resistance.

And, what was that act of resistance, exactly?

_ Burning books. _

The rebellion in Knockturn Alley was a mirror image of Octavia’s rebellion at Hogwarts.

It felt too put together to be a coincidence.

The silence was interrupted by the door squeaking open and shut behind him. Bellamy didn’t turn to look, assuming it was Raven coming to join him. He really needed to apologize to her when he snapped at her. He really should—

“Good broadcast today,” George said. Bellamy’s head jolted up. He folded the report he’d been reading against his legs. “We put you on the spot, but you came through.”

“It wasn’t by choice.”

“Not many of the good things are.” George sunk gracelessly to the wooden step beside him, keeping several inches of space between them. “People like listening to us on Potterwatch, sure, but they like hearing new voices too. It reminds them that there’s more of us out there. It frees them from their bubble a bit.”

Bellamy gave him a look. “I think I’m fucking losing it because you’re starting to make sense.”

He smirked. “Maybe I’ve always made a little bit of sense. People just get distracted by the—” he waved his hand “—everything else.” He closed his eyes and leaned back. “Rubicon. Why the hell did Reyes choose Rubicon as your codename anyways?”

“It has to do with Ancient Roman history. I guess it keeps the ‘R’ theme you all have going.” Bellamy brushed his hands against the report in his lap, his mind anywhere but this conversation. “I had something I wanted to ask you.”

“All ears.”

He lifted the piece of paper. It was creased more than it was earlier and Bellamy knew he was to blame for that. Ever since it was shoved into his grasp, he hadn’t been able to put it down.

“You really think this is an act of rebellion? Burning books in Knockturn Alley?”

George remained impassive for a long moment. “Do  _ I  _ think that it  _ could  _ be an act of rebellion? Sure. Are there other explanations? Absolutely. It could be some kids messing around. Maybe it was more criminal than rebellious — after all, it was an act of arson that damaged several shops. Maybe it was someone making a statement. I don’t know.”

He didn’t know why, but approaching this conversation made his heart pound. Why did it feel so taboo to him? “On air, you said that it was. You sounded so sure.” 

“Yeah, well… People listen to us for hope. They tune in to hear the truth, of course, and we’ll give them the facts that the Prophet won’t. But they also listen to us because we’re the only voices out there. Right? I mean… Some people are stuck out there all alone. Some people have been on the run for months. They’ve been cut off from society, they’ve been isolated, they’ve been running out of hope. 

“They listen to us so they can feel part of the world again. They listen to feel  _ hopeful  _ that everything is going to be alright. We won’t lie to them, but we’re not going to keep spreading hate and fear and panic. We spread knowledge because knowledge is powerful. We try to spread hope and light because those are two things that we are all in short of recently.”

Bellamy hated how his heart fell. “So, what you said on air, it was… what?”

“To give hope to people, even if we don’t have hope ourselves.” George gestured to the piece of paper in his lap. “This could be an act of rebellion, sure. Am I as sure as I made myself sound while broadcasting? No. But when people hear of others standing up — when people hear about heroes — it gives them the courage to be heroic too. Being a hero is different for everyone; it isn’t about charging into Knockturn Alley to burn propaganda. It could be gathering enough strength to keep going. That’s sure as hell heroic in my books, especially with everything going on in the world right now.”

And, really, it made sense. The Weasley twins were known at Hogwarts for never taking anything seriously, for goofing off at all times, for being jokesters, for being obsessed with making other people laugh.

Really, maybe they’d always been obsessed with helping give strength to people to carry on.

During the darkest days at Hogwarts, they’d be there, making people smile with their stupid jokes. Now, during the darkest days of the war, they were on air, making people feel light with hope that there were people out there doing good. They were telling people that they could also do just as much good in their lives.

“You’re thinking of something,” George said when there was a lull.

Bellamy laughed without humor. “I’m always thinking of something.”

“You’re thinking of  _ her.”  _

Neither of them needed to specify who he was referring to.

The muscles in Bellamy’s jaw tightened. “I’m always thinking of her.” His eyes squeezed shut. “I just… I feel like this is something bigger than an act of rebellion. I feel like it was a message.”

He could feel George’s eyes on him, judging him. “Message?”

“There’s specific details in the report — ones that I think are meant for me. The shop that this took place is the same shop Clarke and I visited four months ago. The books that were burned are the required textbook for the class my sister tried to rebel in. Hell, she tried to burn  _ this exact  _ version of that textbook. And… fuck. There were  _ two  _ of them.” Bellamy pulled out the report and pointed to the specific line on the page. “Two people in grey robes lit the fire. Do you know what other reports have two people? The report on March 20th about her impostor in Knockturn Alley.”

George remained silent.

After a long moment, Bellamy reopened his eyes and turned to him. “Am I…  _ fuck.  _ Maybe these are all coincidences. Fuck, maybe I want to see something  _ so badly  _ that I’m imagining it all.”

He gripped the ends of his curls and sucked in a deep, grounding breath. It didn’t make the feeling of the earth being ripped out from under him stop.

“Listen…” George shuffled awkwardly for a long moment before speaking again. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. I’ve never lost someone I’ve loved. I don’t know how it feels. I can’t pretend to know how it feels.”

Bellamy wasn’t prepared for how much his words hurt.

“You think I’m imagining this, then?” he presses, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “You think she’s dead and I’m just— just—  _ fuck.  _ I’m seeing things that aren’t really there. I’m—”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” George reached under his shirt and tugged out a ring on a chain, letting it settle in the palm of his hand. “I don’t know what you’re going through right now, but it’s excruciating, from what I can imagine. I… I love Katie, with  _ everything  _ in me. If anything happened to her…” He swallowed thickly and turned his gaze to his. “I’d never give up. Screw what anyone else had to say, screw anyone else's opinions,  _ screw it all.  _ I’d do what you’re doing; I’d keep searching, I’d keep fighting — no matter what.”

A beat passed, and then—

“I’m not ready to give up.”

_ Not when he still had so many questions. _

George tucked the ring back under his shirt and turned to the sky. “I know. I wouldn’t be either.” 

“I don’t know what to do.”

It was the cold truth. 

Speaking wasn’t as cathartic as he hoped.

“Keep living. Keep looking.” George pointed to the report. “Keep looking for these reports. Look for patterns. Figure out if you’re imagining things because you’re in denial or if you’re onto something.”

Bellamy’s laugh was dry. “Thanks.”

(He would admit;)

_ (he was in denial.) _

His voice softened. “I mean it, George. Thanks.”

“Yeah, well… Us Gryffindor’s have to stick together.” He lips twitched. “Or, I guess… Us  _ people  _ have to stick together. Houses don’t really matter much anymore, do they?”

Bellamy turned to the stars and tried to imagine she was somewhere in the world, looking up at the same sky as he was.

“Tell me about her,” George requested. “What was Griffin like?”

_ And so he did. _

* * *

**_BREAKING NEWS_ **

_ Multiple eyewitnesses claim that Gringotts Bank has been vandalized on April 14th. Copies of the latest issue of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ were stuck to the north entrance of the building. Black ink overtop of the front page depicting Potter’s face read: _

_ FROM THE ASHES WE WILL RISE _

_ Two individuals in grey cloaks purchased several dozen copies of the  _ Daily Prophet _ early Tuesday morning from a Knockturn Alley vendor. _

_ No permanent damage was sustained. No injuries. No fatalities.  _

* * *

After that report, the Potterwatch crew began calling the cloaked vigilantes the Phoenixes.

* * *

_ April 17, 1998 _

_ The Tonks family was fractured. _

Bellamy was familiar with this family, only because he briefly crossed paths with their daughter while at Hogwarts. While he was a first year, she was in her final year and the star of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team. Even though he’d happily cheer for Charlie Weasley in the stands, watching Nymphadora Tonks fly across the pitch with such high agility and poise was breathtaking.

From the moment they entered the safe house, he could feel the strain and tension within. The air was stale and old, as if a window hadn’t been opened in several weeks. It was charged with electricity, filled with tension, heavy with emotion.

Bellamy had felt this environment before. It felt like a distant echo to those final few weeks at Hogwarts after their Headmaster had been murdered. It reminded him of his fifth year, after Diggory’s body was discovered.

Death.

Mourning.

Grief.

His intuition was right. The Tonks family — what remained of them — were grieving. Two and a half weeks ago, Ted Tonks was murdered while helping Muggleborns escape from a group of Snatchers.

The atmosphere in the house changed dramatically when the wards shifted with someone’s arrival. Tonks — the woman he went to school with — straightened and glanced towards the front door, her arm wrapped around her  _ very  _ pregnant stomach protectively. 

Tonks was at the front door as soon as it clicked open, throwing herself at the sole wizard at the door. She gripped the sides of the man’s face and kissed him urgently. The way the man’s hands slid across her back, tenderly touching the fabric of her jumper, made Bellamy’s heart lurch.

He had to avert his gaze. 

He tried to blame it on the fact this was a private moment that he didn’t want to intrude on.

In reality, he couldn’t bear to watch two people who were so clearly in love reunite.

It was ridiculous and selfish and horrible, but  _ he was jealous. _

_ He wanted that.  _

He wished he and Clarke got that.

Tonks pulled away from her husband and pulled him further into the house, her words jumbling together from her happiness. As soon as she stepped out of his line of sight, Bellamy realized just who her husband was.

“Professor Lupin.” Bellamy jolted up from the couch. He hadn’t realized the wife he mentioned all those weeks ago was Tonks. “Hi. Hello.”

“Your Phoenixes were out tonight,” Lupin said, still hovering in the doorway with his wife. 

Bellamy’s throat constricted at that.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t desperately waiting for more reports —  _ any reports.  _ He was desperate to hear something about Clarke; desperate to hear something about the impostor; desperate to hear something about the Phoenixes. The more he learned, the more sure he became that the three were all intertwined.

He waited for more messages from the Phoenixes.

(Or, what he considered messages.)

(He was well aware he could have been still imagining this all. He was well aware none of these things could be related at all. He was well aware that he could’ve been chasing dead ends.)

(But he had to try.)

_ (He had to.) _

“Breaking news?” Lee asked.

“If you were still on—air, yes, but you signed off not too long ago.” Lupin glanced at the clock. “Less than an hour ago, there was an attack in Diagon Alley. Death Eaters targeted a witch — a Muggleborn witch, from what I hear. Two people in grey cloaks chased the attackers away and disappeared right after. It was the Phoenixes again.” Lupin’s smile was amused. “The rumour is that they’re ghosts.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Ghosts can’t perform magic strong enough to chase off Death Eaters,” Angelina argued.

Lupin agreed. “Ghost or not, they’re quickly becoming legends.” He turned to Lee. “Make a note for next week; remind people to travel in pairs. If they’re Muggleborn, remind them to stay away from major Wizarding towns as much as possible. With the records on blood purity being spread from the government, nobody is safe.”

That night, Bellamy dreamed of ghosts.

* * *

Bellamy had been sitting in the hallway outside of the bedroom he shared with the Potterwatch crew, too focused on his book to want to be interrupted by their game of Exploding Snap.

The house had been silent and warm. The book in his lap was worn from years of being read and reread. The pages were loved, shown by the creases in the corners and the loopy handwriting in the margins.

It had been a while since he read  _ The Odyssey.  _ He remembered reading it when he was a kid and falling in love with it. He wasn’t sure when it became something he did with Octavia, but the familiar words of Homer made him feel momentarily closer to his lost sister.

His eyes flicked towards the pile of books to his right. The copies of  _ The Iliad, The Golden Ass, Lord of the Flies,  _ and  _ Of Mice and Men  _ were all worn in the same way. Dusty covers, ripped pages, cracked spines. To some, the sight would’ve been horrific. To him, it was beautiful and went to show just how much these books meant to someone.

That someone being the recently murdered Ted Tonks, a Muggleborn with an extensive collection of Muggle books. When his daughter saw him eying them one morning, she smiled and tossed him a copy of  _ The Iliad  _ and told him to knock himself out.

_ ‘Enjoy them while you can,’  _ she advised as she left for work.  _ ‘Enjoy the small things while we still have that luxury.’ _

He knew what luxury she was talking about.

_ Life. _

He read between the lines; enjoy the simple pleasures that came with life before the war took the rest of their lives.

Bellamy ran his fingers along the pages of  _ The Odyssey,  _ his heart inexplicably heavy. Despite this epic poem being written thousands of years ago in a different world, the message and emotions felt like an echo to his life.

A couple separated by a war. Two lovers never giving up on each other, no matter how much time passed and how much hope was lost. Two people who were drawn to each other, two people who loved each other, two people who fought for each other.

While the Greek myth was one of adventure, it was also one of love and hope.

He couldn’t help but think of Clarke.  _ He had to believe she was still out there, still fighting, still breathing. _

He had to believe they’d be brought back together, no matter how much time had passed and regardless of how much distance was between them.

_ He needed to believe. _

He needed to have hope.

* * *

**_BREAKING NEWS_ **

_ STAY AWAY FROM KNOCKTURN ALLEY & DIAGON ALLEY! _

_ This warning is being issued following a series of severe attacks against Muggleborns and their allies. Due to increased Death Eater activity, all are desperately urged to stay away. _

_ Late last night, on April 23rd, one attack turned deadly. Two are dead and one is in critical condition after an explosion during a skirmish in Knockturn Alley. No eyewitness reports are available. If you have any information, please come forward. _

_ Stay vigilant. _

* * *

_ April 27, 1998 _

He stood between Angelina and Raven as they prepped the meal for that night. Raven lifted up the spoon from the broth and pulled a face.

“Fuck this.” She tossed the spoon into the sink and pouted. “I hate to admit it, but Murphy made this recipe look easier than it is.”

Angelina tossed a half-chopped carrot at her head. “Don’t say that. We’re already at the point of no return. We can’t screw up now.”

Raven grabbed a random spice from the cupboard and tossed in a few shakes. “I know he added  _ something  _ that was dried and… leafy? It was brown?” She poked Bellamy’s shoulder. “What spice is that?”

“Listen, I don’t know what Murphy did in the kitchen,” he said. “I didn’t pay attention. I just enjoyed whatever he set down in front of me.”

Raven snorted and returned to the broth. “Merlin, do you remember when Monty used to cook? I love that man, but I swear he almost poisoned us whenever he stepped into the kitchen.”

“And that was why we had mashed potatoes for every meal,” he recalled. Who could fuck up potatoes? Nobody. It was the only thing he wasn’t scared to eat at Kane’s in those early days. Raven reached back into the cupboard and pulled out another random jar of spices. Before she could dump it in, his hand darted out and intercepted her. “Hell, you talk about Monty trying to poison us, but look at you!”

“I’m trying to make it edible.”

“You’re adding anything that has any resemblance to spices,” he jested. “You’re going to—”

_ “REMUS!”  _ Tonks’ voice was shrill and filled with panic. “Remus, are you home!?”

Bellamy took off without a second thought, the spice jar shattering on the counter.

He raced forward, his wand already in his hand and a healing incantation on the tip of his tongue. Tonks was supposed to be at work still — she wasn’t due home for another few hours. It was Monday; she always worked the late shifts at the Auror department on Monday’s.  _ And her voice.  _ She was panicked and horrified and—

She stood in the living room, her face white with shock and her hands shaking at her side. Lee and Alicia came thundering down the stairs first, quickly followed by Fred and George. Raven smacked into Bellamy’s back as soon as he had froze and she swore.

“What’s going on?” Lee asked. He closed the distance between him and Tonks and pulled her to the couch. “Are you hurt? What’s—”

“I— I—” She sank to the couch, her eyes wide and distant. Her knuckles were white from how tight she was holding onto Lee. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s okay.” 

Lee pressed his wrist against her forehead. “Not a fever. Maybe—”

“I’m not sick,” she cut him off. “I’m  _ fine.  _ I need to talk to Remus, or—  _ oh,  _ good, Bellamy.” Tonks spotted him amongst the crowd. “Bellamy, come here.” When he didn’t move, she waved at him impatiently. “Bellamy, come the fuck over here.”

Lee wasn’t done. He pressed his fingers to her neck and ignored her attempts at swatting him away. “Her pulse is— quit it, will you?— her pulse is  _ racing.”  _ Bellamy’s eyes raked down her body, trying to uncover any injury that would’ve made her act this panicked and frantic. He didn’t see blood or any wounds. Then again, not all spells left physical evidence, so— “Tonks.  _ Tonks.  _ Are you sure you’re alright?”

She reached out for Bellamy’s hand and pulled him the remaining distance. He stumbled forward, not expecting her to use so much force. “I’m  _ fine.  _ I told you. I’m not hurt. I mean, fuck, I think I’m giving birth — no I’m definetly giving birth — but it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—”

The room descended into chaos.

Tonks yanked Bellamy forward again, ignoring the wave of panic that engulfed the room. Lee sprinted away to find Kingsley. Angelina and Alicia ran back into the kitchen. The twins disappeared after Raven shouted a few orders at them, and—

Tonks gripped Bellamy’s hand. Her touch was clammy. Her body was tense. Sweat dripped down her nose.

“The White Wyvern — the pub in Knockturn Alley — it was burnt down this morning,” she said. Bellamy winced from her iron grip. “A squad was called down there for a standard check and—” She winced and grasped his hand tighter. “Someone wanted me to find something there. Or an Order member. Or someone who knows about Potterwatch. The last password you guys used — Collins — I needed to  _ say it  _ for this  _ thing _ to reveal itself to me.” She lifted a crumpled wad of papers in her free hand and let out a groan.

With ever perfect timing, Lupin dropped to his knees in front of his wife, a damp cloth in his hands. Bellamy stepped to the side. He hadn’t even realized the man had arrived.

Lupin pressed the damp cloth against Tonks’ forehead. “Dora, I think there’s more pressing things at hand. Work can wait.” His touch was tender. She swatted away his hands. “We need to—”

_ “We  _ need to do  _ nothing,”  _ she snapped. “I’m the one having the bloody baby! Now, be quiet, so I can fucking—” She let out a ragged breath and turned her sharp gaze back to Bellamy. “You need to— This is for the Order, or something, or—”

“Why do you think this is for the Order? For us?” Bellamy pressed. Lupin cast a dirty look over his shoulder. Bellamy ignored him. “What makes you think that?”

“It isn’t from a bloody Death Eater’s,” Tonks snapped. She shoved the wad of papers into Bellamy’s chest. “They’re  _ Muggle,  _ that much I know. A fucking Death Eater wouldn’t—  _ FUCK.” _

Bellamy stumbled out of the way of Angelina. Tonks must’ve said everything she wanted to say because she wasn’t desperately trying to claw her way out of the worried touches. She let out a string of curses before he was pushed further out of the room.

Out in the hallway, the air was cooler and quieter.

He stared into the living room for a long moment, watching as his friends rushed about, swarming together like they were performing an unchoreographed dance.

_ Him. _

_ Why him? _

_ Why had Tonks shouted for him? _

Bellamy glanced down at the wad of papers Tonks had shoved into his hands and felt his body go cold.

Staring back at him was the unmistakable blue and red spandex suit of  _ Superman.  _ The image was stationary, unlike Wizarding portraits, but Bellamy could see the intent of flight.

He stared at it for a long moment.

His fingers felt sluggish.

The world felt far away.

Acting on autopilot, Bellamy flipped open the crumpled comic book. It easily fell open to a dog-eared page. He saw bursts of colours, unbreakable boxes, bubbles of text, and—

An arrow was drawn towards the man in blue and red, Clark Kent. There, in black ink written in the margins, it read:

_ RUBICON. _

His eyes drifted to the next page, where another arrow connected text in the margins to an image of Lois Lane.

_ PHOENIX. _

The comic book fell to the floor.

Only one thought ran through Bellamy's mind;

_ Clarke was alive. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  **WARNINGS: (spoilers ahead)** This chapter contains mentions of blood and injury, mentions of vomiting, mentions of pregnancy and mentions of birth (but absolutely nothing about the pregnancy/birth is detailed because ur girl knows zip about that).   
> .  
> .  
> .  
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>  **NOTE:**
> 
> Well.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> If you didn't recognized the two new characters introduced this chapter (Tonks and Remus Lupin), it's because they're canon characters from Harry Potter. It's fine, just treat them like OCs if you don't know them. They're really not entirely important to the plot - I just needed more Order characters.
> 
> I don't know if this chapter answers all of your questions? but it sure as heck answered a few of them I think.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated :)


	37. Chapter 36: Looking Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make note of the date at the top of the chapter. We are going back in time a bit here :) While Bellamy was off with Potterwatch, we have Clarke doing ------- stuff.
> 
>  **Warnings** : this chapter is pretty dark. There's mention of violence, blood, gore, torture, and death.
> 
> I hope my coding inside the chapter goes well because I'm kinda relying on it for this one... If anything looks confusing or you have no idea what's going on, let me know and I'll try to explain & fix the coding.
> 
> Enjoy :)

**_CLARKE_ **

_March 20, 1998_

“My mother, your father… I don’t understand how they can be the way they are.”

Murphy’s hand flexed into a fist at his side. “My father… My father is an idiot. So is your mother. They follow Voldemort and it sickens—”

Clarke bolted upright as the house shook violently.

She felt the wards shifting around her, melting into nothingness, sucking the magic and protection from around them. Her skin prickled, her ears popped, a shiver ran down her spine as _everything changed._

_The wards._

She locked eyes with Murphy, horror grasping at her heart. Her eyes were wide. She struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to—

“What the fuck just happened?” Murphy asked, the anger and heat gone from his voice. He spun around wildly, panicked. “What the _fuck_ just—”

The dead of the night came alive with the distinct cracks of Apparition.

_They had been found._

Clarke was the one to spring into action, her reflexes a little sharper than Murphy’s thanks to all those years of Quidditch. She lunged at him, tackling him onto the couch. A jet of green light flew over her head, rippling through the air. It hit the back wall with a crack.

“Down!” Clarke called. 

She grasped Murphy’s shoulders and flung herself over the back of the couch, her momentum bringing Murphy with her. She landed on the ground roughly, losing her breath for a long moment. Murphy’s weight was on top of her, pressing her front into the ground, a grunt escaping his lips.

Not more than a second after they took cover behind the couch, the air was knocked out of Clarke’s lungs as an explosion rippled the air. Glass shattered. She could feel projectiles impaling the couch they sat on moments ago, reminding her of hail in a storm. Large chunks of plaster ripped themself from the ceiling, clattering across her exposed body.

The world grew quiet — the sounds being replaced by a high-pitch ringing in her ears.

Clarke clung to Murphy, her arm twisted awkwardly to the side to grasp his shin. His elbow dug into her ribs. She could feel the thundering of his heart against her back.

_He was alive._

For a moment, that was all there was in the world; the ringing in her ears, the rain of plaster, the steady rise and fall of Murphy’s chest, the pounding of her pulse in her head, and—

Quiet.

If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought of the moment as peaceful.

Then, it shattered.

Reality came rushing back to her.

The room came alive with snaps and cracks of spells; the reflections of the colours almost looking beautiful. The television exploded in the corner of the room, sending streams of sparks shooting. She flinched away as glass flew through the air. Something splintered beyond the couch — the coffee table, if she had to guess.

Murphy’s body curled around hers, acting as a shield, as the world exploded around them. Explosion after explosion rang out, shaking the house down to its foundation, ripping apart the walls that held it upright.

She clutched her wand with shaking hands, trying to will something to happen — _anything to happen._ Her throat was tight from the smoke filling the air.

 _Fire._ Something was burning.

They had to move. They had to leave.

Clarke caught Murphy’s eyes. Understanding passed between them.

They needed to get out. They needed to—

Murphy pushed her head down, pressing her cheek to the floor. The clock on the wall above them exploded. Shards of glass rained down on her hair. Sharp pain radiated out from her exposed shoulder. Blood—

She felt blood. Blood and a quick sting and—

_No time._

They were moving together, their coordination sloppy, but not disastrous. Murphy rolled off of her and she pulled herself to her knees, gasping breath after breath. She didn’t wait for the room to stop spinning before she jumped up, her wand pointed towards the street and a spell falling from her lips.

_“Protego!”_

A shield burst from the tip of her wand. The blue hue was only visible for a split second before it shattered under a barrage of spells.

She had been expecting this. Her arm whipped back and she cried out again. Another shield burst forth.

Again and again, shield after shield.

Clarke was panting with exertion and adrenaline. She couldn’t have been standing and casting shields for more than a minute, yet it felt like it could’ve been hours from the way her muscles burned and the way her head spun.

The front half of the house had been quickly filling with smoke, obstructing her view beyond the shattered window. Spells flew towards her through the smoke, briefling lighting up the darkness like lightning in the clouds.

“Fuck!”

Clarke grew momentarily distracted. She glanced away from the oncoming attack, briefling looking towards Murphy. He had inched his way across the floor to the edge of the couch, his eyes locked on something in the far distance.

His wand.

His wand must’ve been knocked from his grasp and rolled across the room, just out of reach of them both. Or, maybe he never had his wand. She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter.

She fell to her knees to avoid a green curse — The Killing Curse. She could feel sparks along her skin from where the magic crackled through the air.

_Too close._

They needed to go. They needed to run. They needed to—

A spell hit the wall across from them, searing away the wallpaper. On instinct, Clarke shot up, a stunner already leaving her wand.

She had only been standing for a split second — just enough time for the spell to leave her wand — but it had been enough.

_She saw them._

Black robes. Dark hoods. Silver masks. Flashing wands.

_Death Eaters._

Clarke fell roughly to the floor, her eyes wide and her heart hammering. She’d been afraid before, of course she had been, but a new type of fear wormed its way into her heart—

—into her soul.

_Death Eaters were here._

She knew it was them from the moment the attack started, but there was something so different about _seeing it_ with her own eyes.

The couch shook, drawing her out of her thoughts, replacing the fear that momentarily petrified her with something else, something stronger.

_Survive. They needed to survive._

“Murphy!” Clarke called, her voice shakier than she wanted. “Murphy, we have to go!”

He inched forward beyond the couch, his arm outstretched towards his wand. He recoiled just in time, a red spell flying through the air where his arm was moments before.

Fuck.

Automatically, her hand shot out, her fingers pointed in the direction of the wand. _“Accio!”_

When it didn’t come to her, a short jolt of panic filled her. _Of course,_ it wasn’t her wand, and she never really held it before, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise, bu—

Clarke let out a yelp when something exploded on the other side of the couch. She could feel the force of it through the fabric and cushions. She could hear the crunch of glass under a boot, the sound loud enough to be heard over the raging battle around them.

The world fell silent for a brief moment, the attack stopping, the spells falling silent. Clarke’s chest heaved. She could hear Murphy panting only feet away from her.

She realized what this meant a moment too late.

“Clarke!” Murphy let out a strangled yelp and cried out for her. “Clarke, run—!”

When she looked over to him, her blood turned cold and her body froze.

A masked Death Eater had rounded the couch by Murphy and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him clear off the ground. Murphy flailed for a long second, his hands beating against the black cloak of the Death Eater, his feet kicking at nothing, and—

She lunged forward, but it was too late.

_Always too late._

Murphy was slammed head-first into the wall. A sickening crack filled the air. His body went limp.

_She saw red._

Clarke flew forward, a scream ripping itself from her lungs. She wrapped her arm around the neck of the Death Eater, surprising them. Her hands clamoured to find purchase on their airway, desperate to rip them away from Murphy, desperate to—

They threw their head back. It connected with her nose. She stumbled backwards, gasping. Her mouth filled with blood, the distinct tang of iron making her stomach curl.

Before she could get her bearings, her side flared with pain. All the air left her lungs when the Death Eater’s foot connected with her ribs. She crumpled to the floor, smacking her elbow along the way.

She couldn’t breathe.

_Fuck._

Panic engulfed her, silencing the world around her. She gasped for breath, but her lungs refused to work. Clarke sputtered, sending droplets of blood across her chin. Her hands grasped at her middle, willing her lungs to cooperate, willing herself to—

“Got you,” the Death Eater sneared, their voice low and hoarse. The silver mask hung inches away from her face, so close to her that she could smell their putrid breath. She couldn’t escape it, unable to move her head, her legs unable to move under her. “We knew we’d catch the Princess sometime.”

His knees planted on either side of her body, pinning her to the ground. The tip of a wand pressed against her throat. If the wind hadn’t been knocked out of her seconds before, she wouldn’t have been able to breath under their weight.

“We’ve been looking for you, Griffin. Your mother wants a word.”

Clarke kicked, but her feet didn’t connect with anything. Glass shards dug into her back, scratching her skin mercilessly as she struggled to get away. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Murphy, his body unconscious only meters away from her. She couldn’t see if he was breathing.

They were going to die. They’d be brought back to their parents and murdered. They’d end up right back where they started, but so much worse than before because the masks they hid behind were gone.

The Death Eater pulled back from her long enough to bark out orders to the rest of them. Clarke couldn’t see through her swimming vision — tears, maybe? — but she counted seven other voices.

They sounded so far away. Her head spun. The world was growing fuzzy. She struggled to find air, struggled to suck in enough to keep her conscious. Her lungs were tight. Her chest was heavy.

“Empty.”

It was the first word that she had heard clearly. Between the fear and the chaos and the panic, she briefly felt the flickers of hope.

_Empty._

The house was empty.

That meant Bellamy got away. Raven got away.

She could’ve sobbed with relief.

“Check again,” he commanded, his voice holding no room for arguments. The Death Eater on top of her turned back, their wand pushing against her throat again. She bit down on her tongue to keep from whimpering. “How many of you are there? How many?”

It had been so long since she felt this particular sensation that it broke all restraint she had. She jolted away and let out a strangled gasp.

_Legilimency._

Horror filled her as the familiar sensation of her mental walls being ripped down hit her. 

Months. 

It had been months since she encountered a Legilimens.

The Death Eater’s wand dug into her skin. He tisked and inched towards her.

“Be a good girl,” he hissed, his voice breathy. Clarke turned her face to the side, desperate to severe eye contact between them, desperate to protect her thoughts. “Open up. Don’t make this hard.”

He was trying to read her mind. She could feel him in her skull, his presence reminding her of a slithering snake. Clarke struggled to remain calm enough to shield her own mind. What once used to come to her so easily now felt worn and rusted.

She’d been here before. Her mind had been cracked open. Her thoughts had been read like a transcript on a page. Her memories had been sifted through. Someone had dug through her most personal thoughts, looking for something, searching for what they wanted.

It always felt the same, like blunt fingernails raking across her mind. Like cold, bony hands trying to rip down her walls, brick by brick.

It was horrible.

She wanted to scream.

“Shhhh,” he cooed. His gloved hand gripped her chin tightly, forcing her to look at him. Eye contact made this easier for the invader — she knew this. She clenched her eyes tightly, desperate to hold onto her resolve, desperate to keep her shields up. “Come now, Princess. I don’t want to break that pretty little mind of yours.”

She felt him in her mind, poking at her walls, running across her mental shields to look for a weak point. Each second that ticked by, the more pressure he used, the more strain she was put under.

_The mind could only take so much._

It was a lesson she’d been taught the hard way. Countless of people had broke until torture — either from the Cruciatus Curse or Legilimency — their mind snapping under the force.

“How many others are there?” he hissed.

Her lips wobbled from the effort. “I— I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His mental clawing turned sharper. Her head pounded with a brewing headache. Sweat and blood dripped down her nose.

“The Order,” he snapped, his voice losing the honey-tone. “Your precious blood-traitor group! How many of you are there?”

Clarke’s mind was slowly unravelling. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Her fingers dug into the wood below her, grounding her, giving her strength. The glass pierced her skin.

“I don’t know,” she cried. “I don’t know.”

Except, she did. At least, a little bit. She knew Bellamy. And Raven. And Diyoza. And Diyoza’s second safe house. And Potterwatch, with Lee, and George, and Fred, and—

_No._

Clarke clamped down on those thoughts, shoving them to the side. She couldn’t let herself think — she couldn’t let him see.

“Ah,” he breathed, sounding happier than before. “We both know you’re lying, _Clarke._ I can see.” His finger brushed through the damp hair that clung to her forehead. “You’re not good at hiding. Not from me.” He prodded harder. “Come, now. We wouldn’t want to hurt your little friend to get you to talk. Just show me.”

Her hands were slick with blood from where she was gripping glass shards so tightly. A sob bubbled up and out of her mouth. From pain. From exhaustion. From hopelessness.

_At least Bellamy got away._

It was the only thought that she clung to tightly.

She’d take this torture and whatever other torture came at her as long as he was safe. _As long as Bellamy was safe._

She let out a cry when a sharp pain lit up behind her eye.

Her mental shields broke as easily as wet paper, the pressure he was using on her mind finally becoming too much. Suddenly, his presence wasn’t just on the _outside_ of her mind, looking for a way in.

_It was everywhere._

**_‘Bellamy?’_** a foreign voice asked, his voice ringing through her mind as clear as her own thoughts. ' ** _Let me see.'_**

And, suddenly, she wasn’t in control anymore.

_ ‘I can’t pretend otherwise anymore. I love you, Clarke Griffin. My Slytherin Princess; the head to my heart... I am in love with you.’  _ A brief flash of a bathroom. His forehead resting against hers. Love in her chest. His lips making her toes curl.

 _ ’You don’t need an excuse to kiss me, Princess,’  _ followed by a flash of Bellamy’s lips, and the urge to kiss him, his tongue sweeping across her neck, her hands in his hair—

She needed him out.

She needed him _out._

The memory of Bellamy’s glaring at her surfaced. Her wand was in his hand. Kane’s house came to life around him. It was the first time they met during the war. ' _You’re the one who came to us. How’d you find us?’_

_' **Yes. How did you find the Order?’** _More pressure from behind her eyes. _**‘Show me. Tell me everything.’**_

Suddenly, she was back in Kane’s kitchen. She was angry. Scared. Unsure. ' _You’re privileged. You think you’re better than everyone, just because of how pure your precious blood is, and how green your stupid robes are. You’re dangerous.’_

Again, the bathroom. It was a quick flash of a mirror. The cold porcelain of the tub caused a chill to run up her spine. The blood that poured from her bicep spilled between her fingers. She felt Bellamy’s breath along her face, his lips inches from hers. She marvelled at the way his fingers brushed against her skin. She was tempted to hook her fingers around his waist and pull him flush with her. And, an echo of his voice— _‘I… I wouldn’t do that to you — not to anyone. Really. I know we don’t know each other well, but you have to at least know that about me. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to hurt you on purpose.’_

A brief flash of her hair spilling over her shoulder. The feeling of snowflakes melting on her skin. A lightness in her chest, making her feel free. Bellamy’s hands running down her back. His mouth leaving a warm trail along her skin. Her fingers in his hair.

“No,” she sobbed, her head connecting with the ground. His hand tightened on her arm, holding her steady. “No more. Please. Please, no—”

She was back at the Muggle campsite, another memory materializing before she could finish speaking. Bellamy’s blood soaked her hands. Her fingers curled against her chest. She sobbed on top of him. Her lips tingled from their first kiss — one filled with desperation and passion and—

The memories flashed by faster than she could recognize them. The Death Eater dug relentlessly, upturning memories that she loved, plucking her deepest thoughts, ripping the world out from under her.

They were in a black alley. Bellamy’s hands brushed against hers. His voice was low and sent a shiver down her spine when he told her that she was hurt. She grasped him tightly, a reminder that they escaped the attacks, a reminder that they escaped Kane’s, a reminder that—

_' **Marcus Kane,’** _ a voice snarled. _**‘Bellamy Blake. Raven Reyes. Monty Green. Harper McIntyre. John Murphy. Charmaine Diyoza.’**_

He had it. Information. He was slowly pulling intel from her memories.

Clarke sobbed. She ached — mind, body, soul. It felt like she was unravelling slowly. Every time she tried to put up the walls around her memories, they’d come tumbling down. He was faster than she was; clearly, she was out of practice with this defence.

_ ‘I don’t understand. The safe house… You were at the safe house that was attacked. How are you here? How are you okay?’  _

It was a memory that she tried to push back as soon as it surfaced. The more she tried to force it away, the more clear it became.

She was in McGonagall’s office, dressed as her mother, discussing the Order with her old professor. She felt warm. Safe. At ease. Her friends were alive. She was going back to the Order safe house system. McGonagall was going to—

_**‘Minerva McGonagall is your contact,’** _ the Death Eater thought. **_‘Good girl. See, that wasn’t so hard?’_**

**_'_** ** _Out! Get out!'_ **She forced her words forward, echoing towards him. She could feel him pull back the slightest bit. The relief was momentary.

**_‘Who else, traitor?’_ **

He dug deeper than before, ripping screams from her lips alongside memories from her mind. She thought of Octavia for a brief moment, her gaze intense and her hands locked around her throat.

She thought of Bellamy, sitting in the kitchen at Diyoza’s, smiling at her.

Another memory in Diyoza’s kitchen, this one more damning than the last. A pen was in her hands. Murphy held a piece of parchment. She knew what was on the pages he was reading; it was their reports to McGonagall. Every piece of Death Eater insider information was written on those pages.

She tried to build her walls, she tried to fight back. _She couldn’t._

And he knew.

This Death Eater knew it all.

He knew the faces of all the Order members she knew — he knew the faces and names of all her allies. _Kane, Diyoza, McGonagall, Bellamy, Harper, Monty, Murphy, Raven, Kingsley, Potterwatch._ He knew her darkest secrets, her darkest fears, her deepest memories. He knew that she gave information to the Order.

_He knew, he knew, he knew._

She could feel a hand tightening around her throat. His thoughts were sharp and loud, causing her to squirm.

**_‘You’re one of them. A blood traitor. A disgrace to your family. A stain on wizarding kind. You deserve death. You’re filthy, covered in dirt.’_ **

Clarke felt the Death Eater pulling away mentally. His thoughts were pulling away from her own. A wall was reforming between their own minds.

She acted before her plan could materialize into a thought.

Clarke gripped onto his consciousness tighter. Her mouth filled with blood. Her lips stung. Her palms ached. Her head pounded.

**_'No. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.'_ **

Because, if he left, then they would all know. He would tell all the other Death Eaters, and her intel would be out there. Everyone she loved would be at risk, _all because of her._

He couldn’t get that far. He couldn’t tell others what he found in her mind.

“Going so soon?” she rasped, her voice hoarse from screaming. Blood trickled out of her nose and down the side of her face. It felt like her skull was splitting open.

**_Stay,_ ** she commanded mentally. **_Listen._ **

And she dropped the walls that shielded her mind.

Her memories flooded forward, blending with his. She shoved everything she could at him — every memory that came to mind, holding nothing back anymore.

_ McGonagall finding her in Diagon Alley in October.  _

_ Herself, practicing wandless magic.  _

_ Bellamy pressing her against a tree and kissing her.  _

_ Raven telling her that she wasn’t a monster. _

**_'Monster. I’m a monster.'_ **

Clarke thought back to the first life she took. Her memory was jumbled, but filled with pain sharp enough to cut to the bone. 

She focused on the regret she had, even though it saved her. 

She focused on how her soul seemed to split in two from murdering someone. 

She focused on how the life drained from Jugson’s eyes as soon as she spoke the curse. 

She focused on how her hand curled around her wand, how the wood was warm to the touch, how the edges of the glass cut into her fingers, how her arm swung through the air, connecting with his neck, how—

Clarke was ripped so violently from her own memory that she saw stars. A gush of _warm_ rained down on her. She gasped and blinked, trying to seperate memory from reality.

_Memory: casting a Killing Curse at Jugson._

_Reality: stabbing the Death Eater on top of her with a shard of glass._

She watched as the crimson blood flowed over her fingers and ran down her arm, dripping up to her elbow. The man retched backwards, but that only made it worse. His movements pulled the piece of glass out of his neck, causing his blood to drain faster. He gasped and sputtered and—

_She needed to go._

This was the opportunity she had been waiting for.

An escape.

Despite being covered in her own blood — despite being unable to see straight — she propelled her leg upwards, landing a solid kick to the Death Eater’s middle, knocking the wind from his lungs. She rolled to her side and grabbed both wands that he clutched — his that had been pressed into her neck, and hers which he had stolen from her grasp.

Without hesitation, Clarke lunged towards Murphy. As she twisted her wand, she heard their attacker fall to the floor—

—dead.

The world spun around her as she Disapparated.

.

Clarke landed on the ground, her back pressed flush against the gravel. Her head fell to the cement roughly, knocking the air from her lungs and making her see stars.

_Seconds._

_She had seconds._

She knew this. She could feel it. Between the pain and the exhaustion, she had seconds before she collapsed.

They were in an alley — one that she didn’t recognize. The buildings towered over them, blocking the majority of the moonlight. Old wooden pallets and metal trash cans leaned against the side of one building. The only door was rusty and blocked by a large wood crate.

Her heart was still hammering from the fight seconds before. The world was still spinning from the quick Apparition. Clarke tried not to notice how her clothing stuck to her body from the wet blood on her chest. She tried not to feel wetness dribbling down her chin and down her neck. She tried not to choke on her sobs, tried not to lose herself to her hysteria.

“Murphy?!” she called, her voice shaking. She pushed herself up on unsteady arms.

She saw him on the ground, only metres from where she had landed. His head lulled to the side with unconsciousness. She feared the worst until she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest.

She cried — loud, gut-wrenching sobs.

_He was alive._

She wasn’t sure where the strength came from, but she pulled herself forward, inching towards him. The ground was cool under her touch — such a stark contrast to the warm blood she was drenched in.

When she reached him, she could barely breathe.

“Murphy,” she rasped, her hand curling against his shoulder. She shook. Her vision blurred. “John.” _Nothing._ She pressed her wand to his head, struggling to remain awake. _“Rennervate,”_ she said, desperate for him to wake up.

Before Clarke blacked out, she felt Murphy’s body twitch under her touch.

Her head hit the ground. Her eyes slid shut.

“Safe,” she mumbled. “We… We need to go… get somewhere safe...”

She succumbed to the pain.

* * *

When Clarke came to, a cold cloth was against her forehead.

She was disappointed that she wasn’t afforded a minute of bliss, that she wasn’t allowed to remain between sleep and consciousness for a bit longer, oblivious to reality. As soon as she was pulled from sleep, she remembered.

The pain.

The screaming.

The man above her.

The hands around her neck.

The glass in her hands.

The sharp pulls and shoves in her mind, her thoughts being torn from her.

She tried to silence her mind. It was too late, though, and the memory of shoving that long shard of glass into the Death Eater’s throat was all too vivid. She could feel the way his body tensed over hers. She could feel the way the blood dripped over her fingers, running up her arms to her elbow. She could feel the blood spurting over her face and chest, leaving the man on top of her too quickly.

Clarke’s body must’ve reacted to the memory because, suddenly, hands were replacing the cold cloth along her forehead. The bed dipped underneath her, as if there was a body settling next to her.

She reached out in that direction, desperate to feel something, desperate to hold onto something stronger than her panic and pain.

Her fingers met flesh. She held tight.

“Clarke.” It was softly spoken and simple, just her name. The word was filled with so much relief that it made the tension in her shoulder loosen the slightest bit. “You’re okay.”

She was slow to open her eyes, feeling as though the rolling thunder behind her eyes was going to make her pass out again. She managed to get them open as soon as she recognized his voice though.

Murphy.

She tried not to let the disappointment well in her. For a brief moment, she had believed in the real possibility that it was _Bellamy_ beside her.

But, no. He was gone. Only Murphy remained.

Their eyes locked. He was concerned; she could tell in the way his eyebrows pushed together and the way his eyes flicked across her body. His palm pressed against her forehead for a moment before dipping to feel the pulse in her neck.

“Mm.” She tried to make a sound, but found she couldn’t. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. Her lips were cracked. Her throat was raw.

He shushed her. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t. It was a lie. She could see it on his face, feel it in her bones.

Nothing was okay.

Her throat constricted as she tried to hold back tears. She knew she could cry if she wanted to — _and she really wanted to —_ but she needed to be strong. Not for him. Not for Murphy. But for herself. She didn’t want to fall apart right now, not when there was so much to figure out, not when there was so much to say, not when it felt like her soul had just been torn to pieces.

“Water,” she managed to rasp, her voice low and scratchy. 

Murphy didn’t need to be asked twice; he pulled away for a split second — not long enough for her to miss the warmth of his hands — and brought a cup to her lips. “Slow,” he told her.

As she drank, she studied his face. His skin was covered in small scratches from what she assumed was the glass and the explosions. The right side of his face was swollen and a mixture of dark purple and red. The circles under his eyes were dark and prominent, like he hadn’t slept in days.

He pulled the cup from her and pressed the cool cloth against her forehead.

With the strength gained from the water, she cleared her throat and spoke. “What happened? Where are we?”

Murphy studied her for a long moment before speaking. “What do you remember?”

She remembered blood on her hands and twisting through the air. She remembered landing in a cold alley somewhere, unable to move, unable to stay conscious. She remembered using her last ounce of strength to wake up Murphy, in hopes that he’d be in better shape and able to get them somewhere safe.

When she didn’t respond, he continued. “We were attacked. Diyoza’s—”

“I know.” Clarke’s eyes slid shut to ebb the pain that blossomed from her chest. “It’s gone. The safe house. It’s fallen.”

He hesitated.

“Yeah.”

Again, silence.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t need many words to convey what he was thinking. She could see it written plainly across his face. _He felt guilty._ His jaw was locked and his lips twisted, but she could see it in his eyes.

“Murphy—”

“I am. This is my fault.” He pulled out of her sight, leaving her staring at a white ceiling. The whole room was white, reminding her of the medical wing at Hogwarts. It made her feel uneasy. “I broke the taboo. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“I don’t care about that.” 

And, she didn’t. Maybe it was because she was still delirious because of the pain or maybe it was because she knew there were more important things to spend her energy on, but she didn’t care.

“But Bellamy— _Raven—_ I—” His words caught in his throat. “They were in the house, Clarke. They could be dead. I don’t know how we got out. I don’t know if _they_ got out and _fuck,_ they could’ve been captured or—”

“They got out.” Relief washed over her as the memories returned. Her head throbbed with the effort of _thinking,_ of _remembering._ It was a side effect of the Legilimency; her memories and thoughts were jumbled and made remembering difficult. “The Death Eater that attacked us, he was told that the house was empty. We were the last ones out.”

Bellamy got out.

Even though he wasn’t beside her, _he escaped._

And, fuck, that was good enough for her. That was something she held onto as her mind was sifted through, and it was something that she was desperate to hold onto now.

Bellamy was safe. Her and Murphy kept the Death Eaters occupied long enough for him and Raven to escape. Everything that she suffered — all the cuts, all the blood, all the pain — it had been worth it for that simple fact alone.

_Bellamy was going to be okay._

She tried again. “Where are we?”

The answer made it hard to breathe.

“Muggle London,” Murphy replied. He pressed the cool washcloth to her forehead again and frowned. “I… I don’t remember much from the attack. I think I was knocked out.” He gestured to his swollen face. “I’m going to take this as evidence to prove that theory. When I woke up, you were passing out and we were in an alley.” 

She remembered this much. She couldn’t remember where she had taken them after Diyoza’s — all she remembered was knowing they needed to escape, and not caring where they ended up.

“It was Knockturn Alley,” Murphy said. Clarke’s stomach dropped and her hands curled into fists. “We were behind the White Wyvern. You were out cold and _bleeding._ There was blood everywhere and I was terrified because I’m shit at healing charms and—” He blew out a breath. “I knew we couldn’t stay in the alley until you woke up; we were sitting ducks. We couldn’t stay in Knockturn Alley because we’re too recognizable. So, I cast a featherlight charm on you and hauled ass out of there.”

Clarke let out a little breath, a mix between a sound of admiration and a laugh. The image Murphy painted was hilarious, but she was so fucking impressed that he managed to get both of them somewhere safe.

“Muggle London,” she mumbled. 

Her eyes darted around the room they were in and she took in the details. She’d only been in one other Muggle hotel before, but this looked fairly similar to that one. Four simple white walls, two beds, a television, a door with a bar lock.

She was back in Muggle London.

“How?” she pressed. 

Clarke had so many questions. How’d he know how to find his way to Muggle London? How’d he know where to go — how did he manage to get them to a hotel?

It turned out, Muggle movies were more than just entertainment. Murphy knew to wave down a yellow taxi as soon as he left the connection point between the Wizarding World and Muggle London, and he knew the terminology needed to get a half-decent room.

His expression didn’t change as he filled her in, not even when he spoke about using the extra wand she stole from the battle to cast Imperius Curses and memory charms on anyone they encountered in the Muggle world. It made Clarke’s stomach drop. Those curses were dangerous and dark. The Imperius Curse was an Unforgivable Curse for a reason — it controlled the mind and body of innocent people.

Murphy lifted his eyebrow in challenge. “Do you expect me to feel bad? We play by the rules, we die.”

No. Clarke didn’t expect him to feel bad. _She_ didn’t feel bad either.

War caused them to become criminals. The threat of death and pain and loss pushed _all of them_ to do things they weren’t proud of in the name of survival. It pushed her to become a murderer to protect herself and her friends.

_And she’d do it all again in a heartbeat._

“Besides,” Murphy continued, “we don’t have any money. It’s easier to just make people forget you never paid them than to rob a fucking bank, isn’t it?”

The lesser of two evils.

It felt like Clarke’s life had been reduced to that.

She tried to pull herself into a sitting position, but let out a sharp gasp of pain and fell back to the pillows. 

The subject was dropped.

“Don’t,” Murphy warned her, fixing her with an intense stare. “Like I said, I’m shitty at healing charms. You’re still all,” he waved his hand at his bruised face, “hurt. I healed the bigger stuff that I could see, just enough so they’d stop bleeding, but…”

She felt sick.

_So fucking sick._

Every inch of her ached. Her body. Her mind.

_Her mind._

She had never felt a headache like this before. With every beat of her heart, she could feel it echo against her skull. The stabbing pain radiated everywhere, from behind her eyes, to the back of her head, to the crease of her forehead.

_She hurt._

It was an after effect of a hard Legilimency session, she knew that. She had seen people get torn to pieces from having their memories plucked violently from their minds. She’d seen people _die_ from this before. The screams of those victims plagued her nightmares often.

Her whole body felt like liquid. Her brain felt the worst. Memories were hard to piece together. It was hard to distinguish between what _truly_ happened and what was pulled to the front by the Death Eater. It felt like everything was out of order, like everything had been fragmented.

It was a temporary effect. She knew this. Yet, it didn’t stop tears from running down her cheeks.

“You’re hurt,” Murphy guessed. She covered her eyes with her hand and fell further to pieces. “I don’t have anything for the pain. I don’t know what Muggles use, but I can ask directions to the nearest apothecary, and—”

“No,” she said, her voice cracking. She swiped at her cheeks angirly. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to fall apart. “It’s just— it’s _everything.”_

And that was the truth, as ugly as it was.

It was everything.

It was the physical pain radiating in her body. It was the fragments of her mind that needed to be stitched back together. It was the horror and violation that came with knowing someone had torn through her mind without permission. It was the fact that the safe house had fallen _again,_ and she was separated from people she loved and cared about _a—fucking—gain_ . It was the pain in her soul from murdering yet _another person_ just to survive another day. It was the fear that she almost gave up secrets and information on the Order to the enemy.

_It was everything._

She was so exhausted that she hadn’t realized she was speaking out loud, not until Murphy grabbed her hand and spoke to her. “It sucks. I know. It’s horrible.” She continued to sob. “My dad used to do it to me all the time. He was shit at it — like he is at everything else in his fucking life — but _it hurt,_ and it hurt more than just physically.” His voice cracked. “You’re out of control. Everything you know will be used against you. Nothing is a secret anymore — not any special memories, not any conversation, _nothing._ And those memories that were fucking ripped out suddenly aren’t just _yours_ anymore becuase they’re tainted and—”

He fell silent.

Clarke sobbed because _he was right._ Everything he said felt like words taken from her mind.

“My mother used to do this to me,” she managed to admit. “If I fought back, it only made it worse. _Always._ She’d dig harder to find what she wanted. But it wasn’t this bad. _It was never this bad.”_

They both knew the only thing that would be able to help her.

Time. Rest.

Just as all physical injuries, the scraping of her thoughts and memories would fade with time. They’d be sorted back into place, almost as if they’d never been ripped forward. Things would go back to normal — or, as normal as they could be, knowing someone had dug through her memories.

Her chin quivered as a thought hit her.

“I almost gave him what he wanted,” she admitted. “I _did_ give him what he wanted. He had names. He had faces. He… He knew we were with the Order. He knew everything I knew; the safe houses, the intel, the professors that stood with us. _He knew.”_ Her stomach rolled. “I could’ve fucked up the whole war. I could’ve— _fuck._ I could’ve gave _him_ — You-Know-Who — I could’ve gave him enough information to turn the war in his favor. I could’ve—”

“But he’s dead,” Murphy reminded her. “The Death Eater, he’s dead. Nobody knows what he saw. Nobody is going to get that information because it _died_ with him.” Clarke clung to his hand. “It’s okay, Clarke. It’s all okay.”

She tried to pretend he was right.

* * *

Days passed.

Piece by piece, things were starting to fall back together.

Her head throbbed less. The wounds across their skin healed with a little help from some magic. Her memories felt more real and less like fractured glass.

One night, she woke up screaming.

Nightmares were the fuel of her inner demons. With the Legilimency uprooting her memories, her nightmares had been worse recently. They felt more real and mixed with reality.

In her nightmare, the night Diyoza’s fell played on repeat.

One second, she was fine. She was talking with Murphy about their parents, planning on going up to her room and curl against Bellamy, looking forward to pressing her cold toes against his warm legs and having his arm drape around her waist, craving his touch and his sleepy words, and feeling his lips brush against her shoulder, and—

—the next second, the world was falling to pieces. The house shattered around them, like a mirror thrown against the wall. Lights. Cracks. Blood. Screaming. Headaches. And—

Bellamy. Raven.

_They left them._

They were attacked. Diyoza’s was attacked.

Her head spun.

Death Eaters attacked Diyoza’s and _she fucking left Bellamy to die._

Fear clouded all logic. She knew what the Death Eaters said — she knew that the house had been empty by the time they arrived. She knew that Bellamy and Raven had escaped, except—

_Did they?_

Her nightmare of seeing Bellamy dead blended with the reality of the Death Eaters confirming they escaped. Her mind spun, trying to figure out which was real and which was a nightmare.

She had barely escaped with Murphy. Explosions had rocked the house. Smoke filled the room. The whole house groaned from the amount of magic being thrown at it.

_Bellamy had been upstairs._

Would he have gotten out?

She wasn’t sure. She wanted to hope. _She needed to hope._

But she couldn’t.

Not when she had been here before.

Clarke thought back to Kane’s. He’d been so desperate to get to the others. He had been willing to fight through countless Death Eaters to get to them. _He had been willing to die,_ just on the off chance that he would be able to reach them and keep them safe. Without a doubt in her mind, Clarke knew that if she hadn’t stopped him and forced him beyond the wards, he would’ve died.

_He would’ve died trying to get to the people he loved._

No matter how hard she tried not to think about it, she could see it. She could see Bellamy doing the same at Diyoza’s. She could see him racing through the explosions, dodging rogue spells, casting shields. She could see that fire and determination in his eyes — that same fire and determination that she loved so fucking much. She could see him racing through the hallways, down the stairs, and—

_Dead._

She could see him dead.

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut.

_No._

That was the nightmare talking.

The longer she was awake, the easier it was to pull memory from nightmare. The Death Eater’s words were too sweet for a nightmare. She wouldn’t be shaking so hard — she wouldn’t be so terrified — if she dreamed about Bellamy escaping. No. She would’ve been sobbing with joy.

_The nightmare was of him dying._

_The reality was of him escaping._

Clarke laid awake for the rest of the night.

* * *

They kept to themselves in the hotel room as much as possible. 

Once, Murphy left the room, and came back with a shit-eating grin on his face. She didn’t have to prompt him to give an answer. “Problem solved.”

“What problem?”

“This room is ours for at least a week,” he explained, flopping backwards onto his bed.

Clarke narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

“I may or may not have just so happened to bump into the hotel manager in his office, and I may or may not have _slightly_ suggested that this very room was undergoing _much needed_ renovations for the remainder of the week.” He tapped his forehead with the tip of his wand. “Thank Merlin for memory charms, am I right?” It was wrong. Clarke frowned. Murphy noticed her discomfort. “Oh, come on. We’ll send them a nice gift when this whole shitshow is over. Besides, we’re doing them a favour, if you think about it. They have two magical beings staying in their hotel who will jump into action if needed. They’re safer with us here.”

“Memory modification is dangerous,” she said simply. “Next time, use something less invasive.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Next time?”

“There won’t be a next time, but… just in case. Use a confusion charm or pretend to be a repairman or—”

“Ah, there it is,” Murphy said cheekily. “The Mighty Griffin wants me to dress up as a repairman. You know, Muggles _do_ have a good selection of movies that start like that. All we need is—”

She whipped a pillow in his direction. He fell backwards laughing. Clarke couldn’t fight the smile creeping up on her lips.

That was one thing about Murphy; he always knew how to make her smile. Even when she felt like this — lost, hurt, stressed, worried — he could make her smile.

When Murphy regained his composure, he spoke. “We should move around a bit, though. If we stick in one place for too long, there’s more of a chance that we’ll be found.”

That list seemed to be growing longer and longer —— _Things to do so Clarke and Murphy Are Not Found and Tortured by Death Eaters._ Don’t go outside. Don’t perform large acts of magic. Don’t speak You-Know-Who’s name. Don’t stay in one place for too long. And—

“We should practice Occlumency.” 

It was the only way to combat Legilimency, to stop others from being able to read their thoughts and tear through their minds. She’d been skilled at it before, back when she was living surrounded by Death Eaters, but her skills had worn away. She got too comfortable and too sure.

_It had almost led to her and the Order’s downfall._

Murphy sat, suddenly extremely sombre. “What?”

“I used to be decent at it; just enough to be able to direct thoughts in the direction I wanted them to go. Whenever someone was in my mind, they wouldn’t _tear_ through it, they’d be pushed in the direction of my choosing.” She chewed her lip. “I want to be able to do that again.”

Murphy’s shoulders stiffened and his expression hardened. “You don’t need it.”

Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I _want_ this skill? Do you think I _want_ to have to learn how to shield my own thoughts?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “No. Of course not. If I never had to learn Occlumency, I’d be _extremely_ happy. This isn’t a skill I’m picking up for fun; it’s out of necessity. We’re at war, Murphy, and I need to be prepared for anything. _We_ need to be prepared for anything.”

“We aren’t going to bump into anyone that can perform Legilimency here,” he snapped. “Look! Another problem solved.”

“No, not at all. That _is_ the problem. I’m not going to hide out in Muggle hotels until this war blows over! As soon as I can, I’m getting back out there and I’m fighting this war.”

Murphy frowned. “You’re sounding like a fucking lion, Griffin.”

“Why? Because I know what I want?”

“Because you’re going to get yourself killed trying to be brave.”

Clarke crossed her arms. “I’m not _trying_ to be anything. I’m doing the right thing. Does that require bravery? Yes, it sure as hell does. But I’m not doing the right thing just to be brave; I _have_ to be brave to do the right thing. There’s a difference.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you agreed with me. I thought you wanted to fight this war, too? I thought you wanted to help the Order?”

His jaw tensed. “I do. I just… I don’t know.” His shoulders deflated a bit. “I don’t want to see anyone die. I’m so fucking sick of death and running and—” He fixed her with a stare that seemingly peered into her soul. “You almost died. You know that, right? For a while, I thought you were going to die and I’d be alone in this fucking world and I’d be the only Slytherin that had a brain, and—”

“Being brave means being afraid of something and doing it anyways. Otherwise, what’s so special about it?” Clarke let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared. _Terrified,_ actually. But we know this is the right thing. We chose our side.” Her voice softened. “We chose our side and we need to be prepared. 

“The Death Eaters that attacked Diyoza’s, they knew who I was as soon as they saw me. Now, we’re outside of the safe houses. They know our faces. They’re looking for us. We need to be ready for anything, but _especially_ Legilimency.” They locked eyes. “When it was happening — when he was digging through my memories and I couldn’t stop it — I was terrified.”

“I would’ve been scared too.”

“I wasn’t scared for myself,” she corrected. “I was _so scared_ because he was getting names and faces and— and I couldn’t stop it. There was nothing I could do to stop it and protect the people I love.” Clarke swallowed thickly. “It was terrifying. It _is_ terrifying. It was like I was suddenly back on _their_ side, giving them information. I never want to feel like that again. I never want to feel helpless and out of control. _And I never want to be used for their side of the war._ Never.”

They were both silent for a long moment. Clarke’s chest heaved as she studied Murphy’s expression, trying her best to get a read on him.

Finally, he spoke.

“Never,” he agreed. “We’re never going back.”

A chill settled over Clarke. The significance of this conversation made her heart pound.

“We are going to train,” she told him, her voice even. “We’re going to practice Occlumency and we’re going to be good at it.” A pause, then, “and if I ever — _ever —_ get taken by them again, I want you to kill me.”

Murphy didn’t jolt out of bed like she half—expected him to. His eyes didn’t widen in horror. He didn’t look terrified.

He looked peaceful.

He looked resolute.

“We aren’t going back,” she continued. “I’m not going to let them use me against people I love. I’m not going to go back to my mother. _I’m not._ Promise me. Promise me that you’ll do it.”

“I will,” he said, “on one condition.” She waited. “I want you to do the same. If I get taken by them, I want you to kill me.”

She promised.

* * *

What next?

It was a question that Clarke and Murphy avoided for as long as possible.

When she turned to face him, the only sound came from the whirl of the air conditioner and the faint sound of people chatting in the hallway. Even though the room was dark, she could see his eyes open, reflecting the moonlight.

“What are we doing?” she wondered out loud. “What are we supposed to do?”

The way she saw it, they didn’t have many options.

They couldn’t go back to Diyoza’s, not when that safe house was compromised. She wasn’t sure if there was even a house to go back to; the ring of the explosion and the cracking of the walls was fresh in her mind.

Clarke didn’t know the location of any other safe houses. She didn’t know anyone else to trust in the Wizarding World and she knew the two of them would be too recognizable to hide out in Diagon Alley.

Suddenly, she was back in the same position she had been in months ago.

They had nowhere to go.

She turned to Murphy, desperate. “You don’t know any other safe houses, do you?”

“No.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “I went to Diyoza’s second one, but we never saw outside. I don’t know where it is.”

She was afraid of that.

Clarke closed her eyes and tried to think of anything. They needed somewhere safe to go. They couldn’t hide in Muggle hotels forever. She hated the idea of being so isolated. It had only been a few days since Diyoza’s fell, and she felt so lost. She didn’t know what was going on in the Wizarding World. She didn’t know any developments in the war. It was isolating and horrible.

_Her inaction bothered her, too._

It was something she vowed to herself she’d never do again; she’d never sit idly by while the war was happening. When she was on the run with Bellamy, they did everything they could to get back to the Order to fight. When she was at Diyoza’s, she risked her life to provide information on her family and other Purebloods.

She wasn’t doing anything now. She was hiding in a hotel room, trying to save her own skin. With no plan for how that would change in the future, she felt lost.

They had no plan and nowhere to go.

“Never thought I’d be poetic, but I feel like we’re just fucking existing, not… not _living._ Not _doing anything,”_ Murphy complained.

She wanted to do something.

She _needed_ to be doing something.

She was getting restless. Her mind had stopped throbbing days ago. The cuts along her body were healed.

_She was burning to do something about it._

Clarke wanted to take the fire burning in her and she wanted to _use_ it. She wanted to see the world that hurt so many people brought down to its knees; she wanted to see it crumble like Diyoza’s safe house did.

_And she wanted to be the one to do it._

She needed to be out there, fighting back. She needed to be doing something. She couldn’t spend another second trapped in a hotel room when she could be out there _saving people._ She couldn’t keep pretending that people weren’t out there dying and being hunted. She couldn’t keep pretending that she couldn’t do anything about it.

_She needed to do something about it._

An idea came to her. It was a horrible idea, she knew it right away. It was dangerous and chaotic and terrifying and—

Clarke turned to him. “I have a plan.”

Because, really, what was wrong with a little bit of chaos?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	38. Chapter 37: Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, the events in this chapter are happening congruently with the "Bellamy" chapters (chapter 32-35).
> 
> Warnings: violence, blood/gore, brief hints of abuse (in the past), death.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

**_CLARKE_ **

_March 27, 1998_

Murphy’s knuckles were white from clutching the seat in the back of a Muggle taxi. Clarke had to admit, her heart was pounding wildly from the way they raced through traffic.

“It’ll be fine,” she told him. “They do this all the time.”

The words were as much for her as they were for him.

Murphy didn’t look impressed.

She peered out the window and tried to calm her racing heart. The only other time she rode in a taxi was with Bellamy. The sensations that came with Muggle transportation were horrible. She was sitting in a metal coffin, moving at incredibly high speeds, having to trust other Muggles to not crash into them, and had absolutely no control over anything.

It was a nightmare.

Clarke had to look away; not from the nausea that rose from the acceleration of the car, but from the nausea that rose from the memories of the last time she was in a taxi.

Bellamy.

_Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy._

She turned back to Murphy, desperate to keep her demons at bay.

(Fuck.)

(Why did she begin considering the thought of Bellamy a demon?)

_(As soon as you left him and lost him.)_

“No different from flying,” she commented, keeping her words vague for the Muggle.

“Don’t patronize me.”

They both fell silent after that. Clarke kept her hands locked around the belt at her waist, waiting impatiently for the journey to be over.

At first, she hadn’t wanted to venture further into Muggle territory. Neither of them were particularly knowledgeable about Muggles, considering they were both raised in traditional and prejudiced Pureblood society. The only other time she’d been in the Muggle world was with Bellamy, who’d grown up there.

They didn’t have a choice.

Their only decent pair of clothing was shredded and they didn’t own any food. The only reason they’d survived as long as they had was because of Murphy’s ingenuity. He had purchased two large t-shirts that boldly said _HOW BIG IS YOUR BEN_ across the front and somehow managed to get room service for their meals.

Clarke was sick of dick puns and microwaved bacon though, which meant they had to take some drastic measures.

Their trip to Tesco was terrifying.

She was overwhelmed as soon as she walked in. Murphy stopped in his tracks and glanced around, his jaw dropping and eyes going wide. “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “This is all of Diagon Alley in one place.”

Clarke wished the Muggle world came with a handbook. Shopping carts? Yeah, they were fucking monsters. She ran over _at least_ a dozen people’s toes and knocked over a display of plastic cards. On top of that, she didn’t know which groceries to get and couldn’t remember what she purchased with Bellamy back in December. 

Murphy instantly gravitated towards the Lucky Charms and scooped six boxes into the metal basket. He had a better instinct than she did, having cooked many dishes while at Diyoza’s. She pushed the cart as he moved around the store, grabbing various soups and breads.

When they approached the section of the store titled _CLOTHING,_ they both paused. Neither of them knew Muggle clothes well. Wizarding robes? Sure. They both grew up in pureblood society; they could probably tell anyone about which fabrics to wear and when, but _Muggle_ clothing?

Murphy lifted up what Clarke recalled was called denim. “What the fuck is this?”

“No! Don’t touch it!” He instantly dropped it. “I put on a pair of pants made out of this shit and I swear, I almost died. I couldn’t _move.”_

He pulled a face. “Then why would they sell it?”

They went back and forth for a while. Clarke couldn’t understand Muggle clothing choices. Where was the clothing that Raven wore? The _comfortable_ stuff? After spending more time than she wanted to, they eventually gave up trying to understand Muggle fashion and purchased denim.

On the taxi ride back to the hotel, Murphy pulled out one item he purchased, trying to make sense of it. Clarke couldn’t understand why pants needed to be attached to a shirt, but, then again, she didn’t understand much about Muggles.

She glanced towards the brand new Muggle radio between her feet. While she didn’t understand Muggles, she understood this.

_This meant home._

* * *

The radio was useless.

They couldn’t tune into Potterwatch.

They missed _one freaking broadcast,_ and that screwed them up completely. They missed the password distributed at the end of that show, which meant they had no way of tuning into the next broadcast. 

They were always so close, yet so far.

Every Friday evening, they’d sit in front of the radio with their wands out, going through all the names of Order members they knew. Granted, they didn’t know a whole lot of them, so it was a short task. It was better than doing nothing.

“Dumbledore.”

Murphy snorted. “You think they’d go with something so simple? Everyone knows he was the head of the Order.” Still, he pointed his wand at the radio and followed suit. “Albus.” Clarke gave him a look. “What? Maybe they thought people wouldn’t know his first name.”

They continued.

“Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Weasley.”

“Granger.”

“Lupin.”

“Jordan.”

Clarke laughed. “Are you kidding? Do you think they’d use the name of the host for their password?” Murphy held up his hands in surrender. “McGonagall.”

“Diyoza.”

“Kane.”

_Nothing._

Murphy swore.

Clearly, they weren’t using the well-known Order member names for the password. No, that would be too obvious and too easy to hack. They’d be using the names of other Order members and symbols.

The amount of times Clarke wished she had more information was endless.

She turned the radio off, engulfing them in silence.

She had one week to figure out the password for the following Friday. _One week_ to try and remember things she never heard before because of the fact the safe houses were kept in the dark. _One freaking week_ for her to try and figure out something impossible.

“We’ll get it,” she said, ignoring the way her thoughts spiralled negatively. “We’ll just keep trying.”

Murphy knocked the radio on its side.

* * *

_April 6, 1998_

Clarke fell to the bed gasping, her skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Her head spun. Her heart raced. For a long moment, she stared up at the dark ceiling, trying to sort through the turmoil of her emotions.

The mattress dipped beside her as Murphy leaned over her to grab a glass of water. He downed it in one sip.

As she tried to put her thoughts back together, she studied him. He was working hard, if the sweat dripping down the bridge of his nose and the shallowness of his breathing was anything to go by.

They were exhausted.

_There was work still to do._

“Again,” she requested, pulling herself into a sitting position.

Murphy gave her a hard look. “We should take a break.”

_“Again.”_

“It’s dark out. We started practicing hours ago.” Murphy set his wand down on the nightstand and fell backwards into the pillows. Clarke frowned. “We’re supposed to be practicing, not working so hard that we die of exhaustion.”

She hated to admit it, but he had a point. A small one, but it was still a point.

They’d been practicing Legilimency and Occlumency for the last several hours. It was a routine of theirs; after dinner, they’d work on refining their skills until the sun set.

It had been rough at first. Clarke’s mind still reeled from the Death Eater attack. On instinct, she kicked Murphy in the gut as soon as she felt the brush of his mind against hers. They were both rusty, too, which meant they wasted more hours than she cared to admit on being able to perform the spells at all.

A week after they began practicing, they were getting decent. Murphy was able to perform Legilimency for minutes at a time, which felt impossible only days ago. Clarke had been improving too; she could feel the walls that were torn down strengthening, she could feel old pathways in her mind reform, she was able to block out his attacks for as long as he could hold the spell.

_It was good._

After what happened at Diyoza’s, there had been a moment where Clarke wasn’t sure if she’d be able to do this again — that she’d be able to reform the walls he broke, that she’d be able to develop mental shields that she lost over time.

_But she was doing it._

She didn’t realize just how much it had been _weighing_ on her. Being able to shield her mind, even if it was only against Murphy, made her feel in control again. It made her feel like she had a fighting chance if she ever encountered another Death Eater.

“Once more,” Clarke begged, pouting her bottom lip. Murphy rolled his eyes at her ploy. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow.”

“It’s your turn to make breakfast tomorrow anyways.” They continued to stare at each other. After a moment, he broke. “Ugh. Fine.”

They returned to their positions on the bed; they sat across from each other with their legs crossed, leaving mere inches of space between their knees. Under the cover of darkness, it was hard to make out the details of Murphy’s face, but she’d been staring at him for so many hours on end that she had every inch of it memorized.

His eyes met hers. His jaw locked. He moved his new wand steadily, his movements confident and smooth.

Clarke blew out a long breath and focused on feeling _nothing._ It was the key to Occlumency. If she was blank, there was nothing for them to see. She used to hate the numbness that came with the shields; now, she relished it.

She felt the exact moment he entered her mind.

At first, his attack was light — just a simple brush of the mind. Her mental shields stood unwavering under his touch. Seconds passed before he added more force behind his attack. This went on for several minutes; Murphy would apply more pressure, he’d shove harder against certain weaknesses in her shields, she’d counter with more strength behind her walls.

“Drop them,” Murphy ordered through clenched teeth. His hands were shaking with exertion. “Let’s test the paths.”

_Safe. Murphy was safe._

It went against everything in her to not throw her walls back up. She never wanted to share her private space with anyone, no matter how much she trusted them.

 _But this was necessary._ She had to allow him in because she _trusted him;_ she had to be ready to face someone that she didn’t trust invading her mind.

Sweat trickled down her neck. Her breathing wavered. Her head pounded.

Clarke let the walls around her mind fall, allowing him access to her thoughts and memories. A tidal wave of dread swept over her, making her feel like she was drowning, but it was all momentary.

As soon as her walls were down, she reached out and gripped onto his consciousness, pulling him further into her own mind, pulling him down a path of _her_ choosing.

He might’ve been the one in her mindspace, but _she_ was still in control.

It was a safe memory. She sat in the bay window at Diyoza’s, a blanket pulled up to her waist and a book in her lap. In the distance, she could hear Murphy and Raven in the kitchen, laughing loudly. The words weren’t clear — Clarke wasn’t sure if it was because they were too far away to pick up on any specifics or if it was because this memory felt like they were looking through glass.

_ Through glass. _

Her focus was pulled towards the glass window against her right arm. The light reflecting off the window made it impossible to see any of the details beyond the small room. She could see the blackness of the sky and the purity of the snow on the ground.

Snow.

_ Snow. _

Clarke’s concentration slipped and they spiralled. Before she could pull them back towards a safe memory, they were—

_ Bellamy. _ He stood in front of her, a soft grin on his lips and his arms crossed. She twirled in front of him, her arms outstretched towards the sky, catching the falling snowflakes on her open palms, basking in the glory of a first snow.

The memory sped past.

Warm hands steadied her. His touch on her waist so tender, yet so firm, and it made butterflies erupt in her stomach. Warm lips pressed against her own, her tongue eagerly sweeping across his lip, hands grabbing at her sides, teeth nipping along her neck. A moan and—

“Ew. Fuck.”

Clarke was thrown roughly from the memory.

She gasped as reality rushed back to her. Suddenly, she wasn’t standing in the forest with Bellamy anymore; she was sitting in a hotel room with Murphy. She blinked rapidly and tried to clear the fog that settled over her mind.

“I do _not_ need to see you about to have sex with Bellamy,” Murphy complained, wrinkling his nose. “Merlin, it’s like walking in on your parents going at it.”

Clarke let out a laugh and fell back in bed.

A second later, then—

“Again.”

* * *

Again.

And again.

_And again._

They endured grueling hours of practice. Clarke hated how exhausting it got. There wasn’t anything to do other than practice, but they couldn’t do it all day.

They tried to find other things to fill the time.

Clarke discovered that Murphy was horrible at playing the balancing game she used to play with Bellamy. She honestly didn’t mind that they didn’t play it often. It made her think of Bellamy and it made her chest _ache._

Missing him never really went away.

It was easier when she was distracted. The more tasks she gave herself to do, the less time she had to think about him.

_To worry about him._

She wondered what he was doing; where he was; how he escaped; if he was _safe._ She knew that both him and Raven managed to flee Diyoza’s before the Death Eaters came, but she didn’t know anything past that.

She hoped they were together, wherever he was. She hoped that he found somewhere safe to go; that he wasn’t camping in the woods again, trying to stay out of the hands of Death Eaters. She hoped that he was happy, wherever he was.

When she was bored and too exhausted to practice magic, she tried to imagine where he was in that moment. It wasn’t hard for her to imagine him in an Order safe house. Maybe he was playing video games with Raven. Maybe he was reading books to pass the time. Maybe he was just as angry and destroyed as he was when they escaped Kane’s together, but she hoped not. Maybe he felt just as lost and hopeless as she did at times.

Once again, she hoped not.

She wanted him to be smiling and laughing and _free._

But, she knew better. _She knew him_ and she knew Bellamy wouldn’t allow himself to be free, not when he escaped before she did. He didn’t know what happened to them and it made her heart _ache_ for him.

_What if he thought they were dead?_

Bellamy loved with every ounce of his heart. He also felt _everything_ with his whole heart. He was passionate and protective and not knowing their fates would tear him apart. She watched it when he was separated from Raven and Octavia.

He wouldn’t be able to rest until he had answers.

She wished she could tell him. She wished that she could be with him again. _She wanted to go home._ Clarke had lived without a home before; she never truly considered Hogwarts or Griffin Manor homes before. _She found one with Bellamy —_ a place that she was safe, a place that she was loved, a place where she belonged.

Now that she had one and it had been taken away, she knew exactly what she was missing.

_It hurt._

Knowing Bellamy was out there suffering made it hurt even more.

* * *

They needed a plan.

They both agreed that they needed to be better trained in Occlumency before going into the Wizarding World to wreak havoc and cause chaos, but neither of them knew what that looked like.

Both of their faces were well known and they were out of the loop on updates from the war. They couldn’t exactly roll up to Diagon Alley and hope they’d bump into someone needing help, and they couldn’t stake out Knockturn Alley either because they were too recognizable.

Neither of them brought this up.

She hoped that when the time came, she’d have a plan. 

Until then, she had to have patience.

* * *

It came to Clarke in a memory.

They had been practicing Legilimency and Occlumency for hours when she lost hold of her control. The memory she led Murphy to — an innocent and non-incriminating one about a potions lesson back at Hogwarts — faded away as soon as she lost focus.

The dark dungeon of the potions lab morphed into a different classroom. Light bled through the large windows at the back, highlighting all the empty desks sitting in neat rows. The emotions from the memory hit her full force; she was exhausted, and nervous, and desperate, and hopeful, and—

Clarke recognized the memory right away.

It was her mission to Hogwarts.

**_‘Blake?’_ ** Murphy’s thoughts echoed along with hers. She winced at the intrusion. **_‘Is that Bellamy’s sister?’_ **

**_‘That’s Octavia.’_ **

Octavia stood feet away from Clarke, her expression hardened and jaw locked. Her skin was dotted with bruises, some more recent than others, and her Gryffindor tie hung loose around her neck.

‘I need to stay. This is my fight — now more than ever — and I’m not going to abandon my friends like that. Until the last kid is out of this school and far away from the Carrows, I’m staying. Nothing’s going to get me to leave, Griffin.’

**_‘She’s stubborn like him,’_ **Murphy commented.

Octavia wasn’t angry or upset, but she was fierce and determined. She leaned forward. ‘People are losing hope, Griffin. People need hope and fire, and that is something I can help with. Defiance gives people hope — it shows them that we don’t have to comply.’

Clarke froze.

**_‘Wait.’_ **

Already, the memory was growing fuzzy. ‘It’s why I stand up to the Carrows, even though I know it won’t change the…’

Both Clarke and Murphy were pulled from the memory. A sharp pain erupted behind her eye from the abrupt shift. She pressed the palm of her hand to the ridge of her forehead and clenched her teeth to keep from hissing with pain.

She didn’t have time for this. She needed to jot down her idea, or tell someone, or—

“Ow, fuck,” Murphy groaned, surfacing from the spell slower than she did. He cradled his head gently. “What the fuck happened? What—”

“Did you hear what she said?” Clarke asked urgently.

“What? About not wanting to leave Hogwarts? Because—”

“No. No, the other thing.” Clarke could hardly contain her excitement. “I remember that conversation. I was trying to convince her to come to the safe houses with me and she told me that she wouldn’t leave Hogwarts. She told me that little acts of defiance were her way of fighting the war.”

Murphy didn’t look as excited as she thought he would. “Uhm. Alright? Good for her?”

“Murphy. _That’s_ what we will do.” He grew pensive. “I think we’ve both realized we’re at a dead end here. After we feel we have enough practice with Occlumency, we’re what? Going to sit in Diagon Alley? Going to follow a bunch of Death Eaters around? Wait until we hear screaming and go save people?” She shook her head. “We both know that we can’t do that, not looking like ourselves. We need something where we can get in and get out quickly. We need to plan to _hit them hard_ and get out before they see us.”

He nodded in agreement. “Alright…”

“So, _that’s_ what we’re going to do; we’re going to do small acts of defiance. _That’s_ how we’re going to fight this war. We’ll be giving people hope and giving people light _and_ stay safe at the same time.”

Murphy narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you thinking?”

* * *

_April 10, 1998_

Neither of them felt bad about stealing a dozen copies of the newest Muggle Studies textbook _‘Muggles: An In-Depth Study of Vicious Creatures & Animals.’ _

They didn’t feel a sliver of remorse when the covers bubbled up, nor when the pages started to smoke, nor when the paper was reduced to ash. In fact, watching the destructive forces of fire lick across the horrible, gut-wrenching books was one of the most beautiful sights Clarke could remember.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their matching grey cloaks pulled tight around their faces, and watched as the books were reduced to ash. The wind whipped by them, causing half-burned pieces of paper to lift up and swirl towards the apothecary only a few feet away.

Murphy let out a breathless laugh as the fire grew.

_It was as she said before; chaos._

As the fire grew taller and taller, Clarke thought of Bellamy. It would be a lie to admit she didn’t pick this location for him. It would also be a lie if she didn’t admit that she hoped with everything in her that he’d get word of this act of defiance. But, most of all, she hoped that he’d understand.

_She hoped that he’d know this was her._

When the smoke from the flames got nearly unbearable, she tugged on Murphy’s sleeve. Without another word, they disappeared into the night, unaware of the eyes that followed them.

.

They still hadn’t been able to use the Muggle radio.

It frustrated Clarke to no end. They had the radio, they had their wands, they knew the frequency, but—

_Nothing._

The whole week, Clarke tried to think of potential passwords, but how the hell was she supposed to remember something she never knew in the first place?

Fridays meant Potterwatch, Potterwatch meant information, and information was power.

Fridays were reserved for Potterwatch and for trying to break the code.

Tonight was no exception.

They needed this. Today had been the first time they went to the Wizarding World in _months._ It was terrifying, walking into an unknown situation. For all they knew, the war could’ve ended — for better or worse.

They needed to be informed.

Clarke’s hair was damp, leaving wet spots along the collar as it dried. Her chin rested on her knee, already exhausted by the day’s events. She could still smell smoke lingering despite having showered in enough hot water to make her skin prune. The radio static was almost not audible, the volume was so low. 

Clarke ran through the list of names, having the list memorized from saying it so often. “Albus Dumbledore. McGonagall. Marcus Kane. Charmaine Diyoza. Harry Potter. Weasley. Granger.” 

As expected, nothing changed. The dials didn’t swivel, the static wasn’t replaced by voices, the lights didn’t flicker.

_Nothing._

Her forehead pressed into her knees. She knew it was a long shot. She knew they wouldn’t use the names of well-known Order members as the password.

_Who else was in the Order? Which other names would they use?_

She stretched her memory to come up with names she only heard a handful of times. “Cedric Diggory. Kingsley. Hagrid. Lee Jordan. Angelina Johnson. Alicia Spinnet.” Although, these weren’t really names of Order members; they were names of people from Dumbledore’s Army. “Dean Thomas. Katie Bell. Cho Chang.” She was nearing the end of her knowledge. She grasped at straws. “Luna Lovegood. Neville Longbottom. Terry Boot. Michael—”

The dials spun. The static crackled. And, finally—

“—urge our listeners to be aware that the Ministry, which means You—Know—Who, is using Dementors to do their dirty work. So far, Dementors have been spotted bringing misery to the Ministry—”

“—Gloom to Godric's Hollow—”

“—And even horror to Hogsmeade!”

Clarke shot out of bed so fast that her wand tumbled from her grasp and rolled under the second bed. For a long second, she stared at the radio, too shocked to form any coherent thoughts, because—

“Shit,” she breathed as they continued to talk. Her heart pounded and she grew breathless. “Shit!”

_Potterwatch._

She found Potterwatch!

Clarke fell forward onto the bed, her legs too unsteady underneath her. Lee Jordan, Fred Weasley and George Weasley’s voices continued to go back and forth over their report. The familiarity of it calmed her, while her success filled her with euphoria.

She cranked the volume and glanced towards the bathroom. “Murphy! _Murphy!”_ The shower turned off. “Get out here!”

“—only true defence against a Dementor is a Patronus, so we recommend that you keep practicing _Expecto Patronum,_ so you're ready if the time comes.”

“Are you giving our listeners homework?”

“Better that than a Dementor's Kiss!”

“I mean, I’m getting a little love-starved out here in isolation, but that is one creature that _I do not want kissing me!”_ One of the twins laughed at his own joke. Lee mumbled about him being a fool. “Hey, what can I say, I’m a fool for love — just not love from a Dementor.”

“You know what?” Lee asked. “That’s valid. _Very_ valid. In fact, I’d like to add to that by—”

He abruptly stopped speaking. In fact, _everyone_ grew eerily silent for a long moment. The radio buzzed. Clarke’s heart hammered as she reached for it, afraid that she bumped the dials in her haste, but—

Nope. It was fine.

The bathroom door flung open and Murphy ran into the room, panting and eyes wide. His shirt was soaked, clearly having pulled it on without drying off.

“What!?” he gasped. His eyes darted around the room before settling on the radio in Clarke’s lap. “What’s wrong?”

She frowned. “I don’t know. Potterwatch—”

 _“Potterwatch!?_ You got Potterwatch to _work!?_ Holy shit—”

“Yeah, but it’s broken.” She shook the device. “They’re quiet.”

“Well, did they sign off?”

She glared at him. “Of course they didn’t sign off! Do you think I’d be concerned if they signed off?”

“Well, fuck, I don’t know. Why don’t you—”

The radio cut back in. “Uhm. Alright. This calls an end to our regularly scheduled programming, folks. We have some breaking news to share on tonight's Potterwatch; a report delivered by…” The radio fell silent again before Lee continued. “We have a breaking report from a new friend of Potter’s; Rubicon!”

“See,” Murphy said, an easy smile spreading. “There you go. Fixed it for you.” He disappeared back into the bathroom. Clarke rolled her eyes. “Anything interesting to share with the class, Griffin?”

“Maybe, but—”

A sharp exclamation of “fuck” came from the radio.

Clarke froze.

For a second, that almost sounded like—

No.

No, it couldn’t be.

“Hey, now,” Lee reprimanded. “You’re on air, Rubicon. Lay it on us.”

She knew it was impossible, but her body was slowly descending into chaos. Her heart was pounding so rapidly that she could _feel it in her head._ She couldn’t catch her breath. Her fingers tingled with adrenaline.

 _Fuck._ Maybe isolation was making her hallucinate. She could’ve sworn she heard—

“This is Rubicon with breaking news.” Clarke yelped and flew to her feet once more, her hands coming up to smother her scream. “We have just received a report of Death Eater activity in Knockturn Alley.”

Murphy sprinted out of the bathroom once again, his eyes wide and frantic. He pointed at the radio and locked eyes with her. “Is that—? Did that—?”

_“Bellamy.”_

Clarke could’ve cried from how much emotion was brought up by simply saying his name.

She hadn’t spoken of him in so long. His name was on a never ending loop in her mind, but this— this was different.

Again, she said his name, this time saying it with so much tenderness that it felt like she was going to combust.

Despite wanting to fall to her knees and sob with relief, she clung to her resolve and clamoured forward, desperate to hear more of Bellamy’s voice.

It was just as she remembered and brought a warmth to her chest.

“An eyewitness is reporting a large fire outside of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary in Knockturn Alley. The fire was lit at five ten by two individuals in grey cloaks.” 

“That’s us!” Clarke gasped, turning back to Murphy. “He’s talking about us!”

She didn’t think it could get any better, but there was something so _sweet_ that came with him talking about her. He was so far away, but _he was still talking to her,_ in a way. She hadn’t seen him in weeks, but she still managed to communicate with him.

Bellamy continued. “A Death Eater squad arrived at half-after five. No injuries or deaths reported as of yet. We are advising the general population to stay away from Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley until the fire is controlled.”

When one of the Weasley twins began talking, his voice awed, Clarke decided she didn’t give a fuck.

She didn’t know how Murphy’s arms found their way around her, and she didn’t know when she started crying — the one thing she did know was that _Bellamy was alive and he was okay._

Her and Murphy tousled back and forth for a second, both too excited to remain still in the hug. It was rough; her nose connected with his shoulder, her foot mashed his, and they both talked over each other, not quite hearing what the other had to say.

_It was glorious._

* * *

They picked up their training after that.

After celebrating Bellamy, they came to the realization that Death Eaters must’ve arrived seconds after they left Knockturn Alley. That, paired with the reports on Dementors on Potterwatch, had them practicing both Occlumency and the Patronus Charm.

The joy Clarke felt from hearing Bellamy again was unlike anything she could remember. It was relief, and bliss, and hope and— 

_Beautiful._

It had been beautiful.

The next day, when she went to practice her Patronus, it was _that memory_ that she used when casting the spell. A mist darker and more real than anything she’d managed to cast before appeared. The shock made her concentration disappear along with the mist.

Occlumency was more successful. Once Clarke felt confident that she’d be able to shield her thoughts decently if needed, they began to focus on Murphy. Her Legilimency was sloppy at first, but as the day progressed, she got the hang of it.

Clarke pointed her wand to Murphy’s forehead. They locked eyes. His gaze was hard and full of determination.

_“Legilimens.”_

She pushed her way into his mind, sweeping around his mental shields. As he did with her, she tested his defences by poking along the walls, looking for weak spots, trying to force her way in. His shields were weaker than hers and caved under the pressure.

Suddenly, she was swept into his mindspace as his mental shields fell. Memories flew by her, too quick to truly understand. Her hands splayed to the side, desperate to grab onto something to steady herself. It felt like the floor had tipped under her — like she was sliding across a glass floor.

The environment of the memory disappeared before it completely formed, leaving her looking at a kaleidoscope of images.

Maybe she was getting used to it, or maybe Murphy was controlling the memories, but they became clearer as time ticked by. The speed hadn’t changed; they whizzed past her so fast that she was getting motion sick. 

_ There. _ She caught an image of the Black Lake at Hogwarts. Murphy was sitting under a tree, scowling towards—

_ It shifted. _ The walls of Hogwarts. She could feel the familiar stone against her — _his_ — fingertips. Before she could see which part of the castle it was, she was pulled roughly—

_ Home. _ She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she could _feel it in her soul._ The next memory was of a place she — _he_ — used to consider home. The memory didn’t shift, but she felt darkness creeping up like a tidal wave; all-consuming and _cold._

A flash of a dead body — she wasn’t sure who — but she could  _feel it._ She felt numb. Empty. Hollow. _Dead._ Was she the dead body? Was she—

**_‘Not you,’_ **Murphy’s voice echoed.

The landscape shifted so quickly. She fell forward, knocking her knees into the muddy ground below. Water splashed up, hitting the front of her shirt. Except, it wasn’t  _her shirt —_ it was Murphy’s.

_ These were Murphy’s memories. _ It was hard to remember when it felt like they were her own.

Murphy glanced up, his hair stuck to his face from the pouring rain. He was drenched. His skin was pale and hollow, like he was sick. His lips were blue. His eyes lost the fire they usually carried. ‘Enough! I’ve had enough!’

As if the memories listened to his past self, the world shifted again. Clarke fell backwards, landing on her back. Instantly, she was struck with a fear so intense that it made her heart leap into her throat. Before she could wonder  _why,_ a man was in her face — _screaming._

The memory shifted.

‘—filthy blood traitor, John.’ The words that followed this were warped, like the man was speaking through water. ‘You’re worth more dead than alive.’

**_‘Your father,’_ ** Clarke commented. **_‘That’s your father.’_ **

**_‘I don’t have a father,’_ ** Murphy stated, no bitterness to his words. **_‘Not anymore.’_ **

The memory shifted again, this time slower than before. Instead of falling through the floor like the previous transition, the floor came up to meet her. It was gentler. Peaceful.

Diyoza came into view. Somehow, she knew this was the first time she was meeting the woman —  _rather,_ the first time Murphy was meeting the woman. Her eyes were like steel. His nails bit into the palm of his hand, his whole body alive with anger. Finally, she nodded. ‘You’re rough around the edges, but we can work with it.’

In that same memory, Murphy responded. ‘Fuck off.’

She laughed. ‘You’ve got fire. I think we’ll get along just fine.’

Memories flew by faster, and faster, and—

Murphy smashing a glass bowl and  _screaming_ in the kitchen. A wave of anguish and anger and—

Diyoza throwing her arm around him and telling him that it was all going to be okay. A wave of disdain, and frustration, and  _the smallest hint of hope,_ and—

Again, Diyoza; this time, he stood beside her, learning how to cook scrambled eggs. A feeling of purpose and contentment and—

Raven being ushered through the floo, her eyes red-rimmed and shoulders tense. A brief moment of eye contact, then—

—a handshake and a truce—

—shared smiles; some secretive, some a result of pure joy, some that made his heart race—

—warm hands, warm lips, veins filled with so much heat that  _he was sure he was going to die in the best way possible—_

—a glimpse of the sun rising, Raven’s arm pressed against his, sending jolts of electricity through his body—

—a calmness—

—warm hands, warm lips, racing heart, chest filled with so much warmth and tenderness and longing and—

—a pain, radiating from his chest, curling through his body, making him feel like he was dying, making him feel like he was losing control, making him feel like—

—Clarke. She saw herself through Murphy’s eyes for a split second; not long enough to place the memory herself, just long enough to identify her own profile and laugh.

The next memory was Raven again, this one filled with sharper pain than before, and something else.  _Longing._ An ache burned across Murphy to reach out and brush knuckles with hers, like they did before. _Raven, Raven, Ra—_

Clarke and Murphy both sprung apart, gasping. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, swearing under his breath from what was sure to be a splitting headache. Clarke sucked in deep breath after deep breath and tried to keep her stomach settled.

That had been… _a lot._

It felt like she had been launched through a tunnel of light, with each memory streaming past her without fully registering. There were a lot of images, and emotions, and people, and—

Raven.

She’d seen Raven.

And, more importantly, she felt an echo of what Murphy felt when _he_ saw Raven.

He was in love with her.

Clarke stared at him for a long time, trying to fit the pieces together. Moments from Diyoza’s that she brushed off began to make sense; how Murphy knew Diyoza’s rules about relationships in the house, the way Murphy looked at her — with so much tenderness and care.

Maybe he didn’t know how he felt himself, but she could feel it. It was so similar, yet so different, from how she looked at Bellamy. 

_She looked at Bellamy like he hung the moon, while he looked at Raven like she was the sun._

“Murphy,” she rasped, unable to say anything else. She felt tongue-tied, not entirely sure how to approach the subject. “I—”

“I’m shit at this,” he said, his voice strained. When he pulled his head from his hands, she could tell his smile was forced. “Salazar, I never thought that I’d be such a fucking open book.”

“Murphy—”

“But only for you, Griffin.” His laugh was fake. It made Clarke tense. “I’m only an open book for you. Because _you get me._ I can’t lie to you because when you look at me, it’s like looking in a mirror.”

Clarke’s hands curled around nothing. It was haunting, just how true that statement was.

“Murphy… What I saw…”

He pointed to his temple and laughed dryly. “Now you see how fucked up it is in there?” He swiped the back of his hand across his nose. His smile twisted. 

Was she supposed to laugh at his shitty jokes? 

She wasn’t sure.

So, she said nothing.

Murphy massaged the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You saw it all?”

“I saw a lot.” Clarke swallowed thickly and tried to make sense of the memories she saw. “It was fast. Overwhelmingly fast.”

He snorted. “Fucking fantastic. That’s how I’ll fight those greasy dicks; I’ll just overwhelm them with so much trauma until they say ‘let’s give the poor bastard a break’ and leave.” 

“No. I mean… you’ve got the _idea,_ but no. You can use whatever _that_ was to your advantage. Your memories moved so fast that I could barely make anything out. If you keep that speed, or somehow move them faster, then you have a solid defense.” They both fell silent. Clarke studied him. He avoided her gaze. She tried again. “Listen, Murphy, what I saw… I didn’t know that you… you and Raven—”

Murphy’s head snapped up. “Don’t.”

Clarke didn’t hesitate with her response. “Alright. I won’t.”

He had done this for her, back when her and Bellamy weren’t together. He didn’t push her for details. He never overstepped. _And she wouldn’t either._ What she saw in his memories — no matter what it was — those were his private thoughts. He trusted her enough to see them; she’d never betray that trust by pushing him to talk about something he didn’t want to.

Murphy’s jaw clenched. “I’m serious, Clarke. Just forget it.”

“It’s already forgotten.” To prove her point, she climbed back onto her knees and gestured to the wand at his side. “We should work on our Patronus Charms. I think we almost have it.”

Murphy continued to stare at her, his gaze heavy. Clarke raised her eyebrows and turned away from him, pretending to busy herself with the task at hand.

It was hard to stop thinking about what she saw.

.

It was under the safety of darkness that Murphy spoke.

“I slept with Raven.”

Neither of them had been sleeping. She knew that. Murphy seemed to know that too, judging on how solid his voice was.

Clarke’s gaze traced the outline of the shadows on the white ceiling. “Oh?”

It was all she could say because she knew it was so much more than that. She’d been in his head. She’d seen what he had seen; she’d felt what he’d felt.

“It was before you two got to the safe house, when it was just me and her. We were scared and bored and we _turned to each other._ All we had was each other. Sex was… it was just a byproduct of emotions running high.” Murphy grew quite for a long moment, allowing the faint sound of Muggle traffic to filter through. “We ended it before it got too serious — before we caught feelings.”

“Did it work?”

Clarke already knew the answer to her question. 

She wondered if he did, too.

“What?”

She turned to face him. “Did you end it before you caught feelings? Did it work?

Murphy was silent for a long time. His eyes reflected the yellow light bleeding in from the street. His face was expressionless — a blank slate — a mask made of stone.

“The shitty thing is that I thought it did.” His laugh was wet. “It didn’t.”

* * *

_April 14, 1998_

They caught the breaking news from Potterwatch as soon as they reentered their hotel room. Clarke ran to the radio, her grey cloak billowing behind her and cranked the volume. Murphy trailed in after her.

“Breaking news!” Lee’s voice called. “This is your host River and Potter Pal Rubicon coming to you with breaking news from our reporters on the streets.”

“Another report of a demonstration, this time coming from Diagon Alley,” Bellamy said. Clarke let out a sound of excitement and leaned in closer. “While not violent, we are advising all listeners to stay away from Gringotts Bank and surrounding areas.”

“We don’t want our good friends in black to take their displeasure at vandalism out on you. Stay the eff home, folks,” Lee said. “Now, Rubicon, you mentioned that this is not the first demonstration held in this neighbourhood. Care to let some of our casual listeners know what else our mysterious friends have done?”

“Four days ago, they burned copies of propaganda-filled textbooks in Knockturn Alley. Today, they vandalized Gringotts Bank with copies of the _Daily Prophet—”_

“A news source filled with propaganda, may I add.”

“—and lettering that states ‘from the ashes, we will rise.’”

“And how do we know these are the same people?” Lee pressed. “Some of our listeners may be suspicious. How do we know?”

“Don’t answer that, Rubicon,” a new voice cut in. Clarke recognized this voice as Kingsley’s. “I can assure our listeners that both these acts have been done by the same people. We’re withholding details to ensure we can distinguish between copy-cats and the real Phoenixes.”

Lee whistled. “Did you just say Phoenixes, Royal? Is that what we’re calling our mysterious friends?”

Bellamy cut in. “‘From the ashes, we will rise,’” he quoted. “It sounds as though our mysterious friends fit the profile of a phoenix _very_ well. There’s a message of hope in there; even after the sun sets, it will rise again; even after the world is burned down, we will rebuild; even though we are suffering right now, we will rise up again.”

“Very inspirational words from a poetic man,” Lee praised. “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today, folks. Our regular program will pick up this Friday; same time, same place. Might I remind everyone; do _not_ follow the lead of the Phoenixes and partake in vigilantism. Stay home. Stay safe. Fight the ways you know how. Make small stands. This is Potterwatch, signing out.”

The radio clicked off.

Clarke and Murphy locked eyes. For a split second, they were silent, then—

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, jumping from his seat. Clarke echoed his movements and they met in the middle for a rowdy hug. This was a common piece with them now; too excited to hold still to hug properly. It was messy and _fantastic._ “We did it! We actually did it!”

Vandalizing Gringotts had been something they were worried about, considering they did it during the day and considering how tight the security was at the bank.

“Now, let’s just hope Raven gets our message.” The copies of the Prophet had been for her, after all, to let her know that they were out there and alive.

They pulled out of the hug, still beaming. 

Murphy let out a loud laugh. “Guess we’re the Phoenixes now. I feel like one of those Muggle superheroes you taught me about.” He gestured towards the shopping bag stashed under the desk, filled with various Superman comics. “We’re official, Griffin, we have a name and everything!”

Clarke thought back to Bellamy’s words. _Phoenixes were symbols of hope._ He thought her and Murphy were symbols of hope, even though he didn’t know it was them.

She couldn’t stop smiling.

* * *

_April 17, 1998_

This wasn’t the plan.

“You have to be quiet,” Clarke hissed, her voice breaking. Murphy let out a strangled groan. She winced. “I know. I know, it’s bad. It hurts.”

“Fuuuuuck.”

“I know.” Clarke dropped the blood-soaked cloth to the basin beside her. “Just… Just one more minute. I almost have it clean and then—”

“Fuck!”

No, this was not the plan.

Clarke glanced towards the motel room door, thankful that she cast a silencing charm before she peeled back Murphy’s bloodied cloak and got to work. She hoped it held — even for a few minutes longer — and they wouldn’t have to deal with Muggle law enforcement.

“Shhhh,” she cooed, trying her best to keep her tone from being too demanding. “It’s okay.”

“I’m— _fuck—_ ” Murphy snapped. His body tensed under her hands. His jaw rippled from clenching his teeth so tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. And, really, she was. She didn’t want to see him in pain, especially not at her hands. It was necessary to clean his wound before attempting to heal it, but—

Murphy let out a loan groan and grasped the bed sheets under him. “I’m— I’m not. I’m not sorry.” His chest glistened with sweat and blood. He gasped for breath. He locked eyes with her. “I’m not sorry because those sons of bitches got what was coming.”

“And you got hurt in the process. Hold still. A few more minutes and then I can heal it.”

When they went to Diagon Alley, Clarke hadn’t expected things to go so downhill so quickly. 

The plan was simple; go to the pawn shop that she went to with Bellamy all those months ago, drop off a few copies of the Muggle comic with vague messages inside, and wait until he got word of it. It was foolproof; they weren’t going to be doing anything to attract the attention of Death Eaters and their message inside the comic books would ensure Bellamy knew exactly who the Phoenixes were.

What they didn’t plan for was to hear the screams of a woman as soon as they Apparated into the alley.

They didn’t hesitate. They both raced forward, their original mission long forgotten. Clarke’s heart had been in her throat. Her wand was loose against her slick skin. The sound of their shoes meeting pavement echoed around the otherwise empty streets.

Clarke didn’t hesitate to send a stunner towards a man in a _very obvious_ Death Eater robe crowded over a woman. The witch was on the ground, a bruise already blooming across her face and blood dripping from a split lip, screaming.

Her spell missed her mark by a long shot, shattering a window to an abandoned shop behind the group.

They had mere seconds before a fight broke out.

Clarke counted four Death Eaters above the woman — all without masks and all holding wands. As soon as Clarke and Murphy stepped into the alley, a Death Eater shot a stunner at the woman, knocking her out cold. Clarke raised her wand, ready to counter the blow, but— 

_“Griffin!?”_

—she stopped

One of the Death Eaters stepped forward, their eyes wide and jaw slack with horror.

Both her and Murphy recognized her at the same time. 

“Millicent?” he asked.

Her eyes flicked to his. Her expression morphed further into confusion. “Murphy?”

They all knew each other back at Hogwarts, all having been in the same year and same house. _Many things had changed since then,_ and all those changes were evident in that very moment.

Clarke and Murphy stood across the street, wands drawn and hoods up.

Millicent stood among a group of Death Eaters, wand drawn and pointed at a screaming woman.

Clarke could taste blood from where she was biting down so hard.

“Wh— What are you doing here?” Millicent questioned, her eyes flicking back and forth between her and Murphy. The three other Death Eaters shifted uneasily, clearly not happy about her hesitation. 

“We’re just out for a nightly walk,” Murphy responded coolly. “We’re fond of strolling in an abandoned village to the uplifting tune of a woman’s tortured screams. Really gets my blood pumping, you know? Sets the mood.”

Millicent’s eyes snapped to his. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint. A beating heart suits me better than rotting flesh.” His eyes swept across the Death Eaters. “Although, the same can’t be said for some.”

Millicent glanced at Clarke, her face growing redder by the second. “You’re… Why are you here? Why aren’t you home?”

“I don’t have a home,” she replied. Her eyes dropped to the woman on the street. She fought the need to race across to her and put herself between her and the Death Eaters. “I think we should be asking what _you’re_ doing here?”

Millicent’s face twisted and she glanced down at the witch. “This _filth_ is a criminal.” She kicked the woman’s side, causing her whole body to roll. Murphy’s hand darted out to stop Clarke from charging forward. “We’re just here to bring her in for questioning.”

“Oh, yeah? What crime did she commit?”

“Theft of magic, theft of a witch’s wand, impersonating a witch, and evading court orders.” She gestured to her wand, loose across the street. “Guess we can add ‘attacking a member of law enforcement’ to her list of crimes now.”

“Salazar, you _are_ as fucking stupid as everyone says,” Murphy spat. He took a step forward. The Death Eater’s reacted swiftly, all pointing their wands at his chest. Clarke’s heart was in her throat. She lifted her wand, a shielding charm already on the tip of her tongue. “You know just as well as I do that nobody can fucking steal magic.”

“Incorrect,” she snapped. “She did!”

“Really? Merlin, you think if there was a way to steal someone’s magic, people would use it more!” Murphy countered, feigning shock. “Do your parents not know how to steal magic from others? It would make a nice gift for yourself. Hell only knows that you need all the help you can get in _that_ department.”

Millicent inched forward. Clarke’s wand twitched.

For a long moment, they all stared at each other.

Finally, she laughed, bending over at her waist to clutch her side. “Salazar! I can’t believe this! The Great Clarke Griffin and the _Mediocre_ John Murphy are fucking _blood traitors!”_ She righted herself. Her smile slipped. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Right.” Murphy lifted his sleeve mockingly, showing his bare arm. “See how we don’t need to get some sketchy ass tattoo to appease our masters? It’s _fantastic._ It’s called freedom and having a brain; you should try it sometime.”

“Murphy,” Clarke hissed. Her eyes darted from Death Eater to Death Eater, carefully studying their movements, ready to jump into battle at any second. His comments were making them grow agitated, making them grow angry.

“No, it’s fine,” he replied. He dropped his sleeve. “I don’t know about you guys, but I _really_ like not having to respond to every call made by a half-dead bald guy. Like, sweet Merlin, I don’t know who I have to thank in the afterlife for giving me more than three brain cells, but… Oh, hey, you all should start to consider filing a complaint with someone. Yeah, it must be really hard living your lives with your head shoved so far up your own asses. I bet—”

“Down!”

Clarke pushed Murphy to the side. The green jet of light missed both of their heads by inches.

The battle had been quick.

They Disapparated before she could land any blows on them. Unfortunately, one of their cutting charms managed to hit Murphy’s collarbone before they fled. Clarke ordered him to keep pressure on his wound as she woke the woman.

She wasn’t too sure how they got back to the hotel, exactly, but she knew the woman they were attacking was alright and she knew Murphy needed help.

Clarke wrung out the washcloth, trying to ignore his groans of pain. As she brought the tip of her wand to the gash in his chest, she turned to him. “You shouldn’t have aggravated them,” she mumbled. “They were pissed when they snapped.”

Murphy winced as she began healing. “That was the point,” he rasped. “Death Eater 101, Clarke; get them angry so they’re irrational. Irrational people make stupid decisions and leave— _ouch—_ they leave themselves vulnerable to attacks.”

She reached the end of the wound and watched the flesh stitch itself back together. They locked eyes. “Still. It was risky.”

“It was smart.”

She studied the fresh red skin. “You’re lucky that didn’t hit your neck.”

He relaxed back into the bed, his muscles shedding tension immediately. “Yeah, well, according to Millicent, I’m supposed to be dead already.”

_Clarke didn’t want to think about that._

She also didn’t want to think about how she was supposedly at home.

More so, she didn’t want to think about the fact that four Death Eaters now knew who the Phoenixes were. She didn’t want to think about the fact that they were most likely telling her mother _exactly_ where they saw her and _exactly_ who she was with.

It was terrifying. It was horrifying. It made her feel like she was caught in a brewing storm; knowing she needed to _run,_ but not being able to escape her impending doom.

“It was worth it,” Murphy repeated, his voice less strained than before. “It’s worth it because that’s one more person saved and four more assholes pissed off.” He pushed at the corners of his mouth mockingly. _“Smile,_ Griffin. We did good.”

She wished she could have his optimism.

* * *

_April 23, 1998_

Less than a week later, it was the exact same story.

The plan was simple. Go to Diagon Alley. Drop several comic books off at the pawn shop. Head back home.

It was derailed by screaming — _again._

As soon as the dark and empty alley materialized before their eyes, they were racing forward. They moved together through the streets, blowing past broken down shops and scattered litter. Clarke’s heart pounded. Her stomach twisted. She clutched at her wand, her eyes darting from building to building, trying to find the source of the screams.

Clarke peeled off to the side, squishing through a narrow alleyway between Diagon and Knockturn Alley. Murphy hastily chased after her, following a few steps behind. The brick walls that enclosed the narrow space were ragged, scraping the skin off her knuckles in her frantic chase.

When she burst through to the main street in Knockturn Alley, she sucked in several deep breaths.

_Screaming._

_So much screaming._

They were closer now; she could hear the snap of spells being shot.

 _But where?_ Where was the noise coming from?

Clarke spun around several times, her chest heaving and her mind spinning. The alley was dark. Buildings drooped. The night sky was cloud-covered, eating away all sources of light.

Murphy was at her side, the light from the tip of his wand illuminating the space around them. The shadows caused her heart to leap to her throat. Her whole body thrummed with adrenaline.

“Please!”

It was a desperate cry from the wizard screaming. The yells cut short for a second before they reappeared, this time much more desperate and ferocious.

Clarke was already racing forward, having pinpointed the area the shout came from. As Murphy chased after her, his voice came out as a hiss, begging her to slow down, urging her to stay together.

She was too far gone though.

Her blood rushed through her ears like a drum. Suddenly, there wasn’t anything else in the world; just the pounding of her heart, the pavement under her feet, the desperation and fear in her blood, and her wand in her hands.

Clarke could’ve sworn she never ran so fast in her life. The wind swept her hood to her shoulders. Her blonde hair whipped against her cheek, stinging the skin. Her feet skidded along the loose gravel of the road as she made a sharp turn, racing around a building and—

“Hey! Stop!” Clarke ordered. While she desperately panted to catch her breath, her voice remained steady and firm. 

She stood at the mouth of a wide alley. Not even half-way up the winding road, a figure loomed over a withering man on the ground, their figure haloed by a glowing orange light. _The Cruciatus Curse._ Clarke recognized the blackness of a Death Eater robe instantly. She gripped her wand tighter and planted her feet, readying herself to strike.

The orange jet of light faded from the tip of the Death Eater’s wand, throwing the alley into complete darkness. The air was so cold that she could see the tendrils of her breath curling in front of her. Light bled through the clouds, casting a faint silver light over everything.

It looked like a dream.

It felt like a nightmare.

The wizard on the ground scrambled backwards, pulling himself as far away from the attacker as the narrow alley allowed. He was silent now that he wasn’t being tortured. She could hear his ragged breaths from where she stood.

“Back away,” Clarke ordered again, lifting her wand to the ready position. Her eyes darted across the scene, studying the tenseness of the Death Eater’s back, watching the way they gripped their wand under their sleeve, waiting for them to pounce. “Drop your wand.”

Murphy chose this second to burst into the alley behind her. The glow from his wand reached the furthest end of the alley, extinguishing all shadows. He stayed a few paces behind her, remaining silent.

“Now!” Clarke ordered, her tone growing sharper. She took a confident step forward, her shoe scraping against the gravel. Her heart was pounding. Her hands shook. “Drop your—”

The Death Eater cocked their head to the side. Clarke could see the outline of a smile spread across their face, the details of their expression still hidden by the shadow cast by their black hood.

Her footsteps faltered.

Her blood froze.

_That looked like—_

The Death Eater turned completely towards her, pushing their hood from their face as they moved. Their eyes locked and a feeling of _coldness_ filled her, freezing her to the ground, making her heart completely stop in her chest.

_It was her._

Looking into the eyes of the woman across the street was like looking into the eyes of a basilisk.

_Petrifying. Horrifying._

Clarke always heard that seeing your doppelganger was an omen of death. She hadn’t understood how true that was until that moment.

It was _her_ across the street. _Her._ An identical replica of her face stared back at her, her lips twisted bitterly and her chin lifted proudly. _It was her face. Her body. Her eyes._

It felt like Death had reached his boney hands right down her throat and plucked out her heart.

Her whole body shook as _her face_ — the doppelganger’s face — twisted with a sick glee. The expression reminded her of a cat playing with a dying mouse; it reminded her of someone who found a sick sense of joy from watching other people’s misery.

It was her own voice that responded, the words coming from the lips of the stranger. “Baby,” she cooed, her voice dripping with a heart—stopping sweetness. _“My_ baby.”

The world seemingly tipped under her feet.

Clarke’s gaze dropped from _her_ face to her wand, a horrible feeling making her feel like she was drowning. She studied the shape of the wood for a long second, time no longer flowing steadily, her mind no longer working.

 _The wand._ Despite the face saying one thing — that she was looking into a mirror, that she was staring at an alternate version of herself — the wand said another.

The world stopped spinning.

Clarke met her blue eyes again, a chill raking its way down her spine.

“Mom?”

It was Clarke’s own laugh that rang back from the stranger — but filled with more malice and venom.

_She was falling._

_Spinning out of control._

_Losing her grip on reality._

“You’ve always been bright, Clarke.” With those words, all of Clarke’s fears were confirmed. The breath was knocked from her lungs. Terror clutched at her soul. “You’ve grown so much.”

Murphy stepped up beside her, his wand pointed in the direction of her double — _of her mother._ He looked furious; a stark contrast to Clarke’s gaunt expression.

She was slowly unravelling. It was terrifying to look across at someone so horrible _and see herself staring back;_ her own eyes, her own face, her own body. It was _her —_ an exact duplicate — but yet _so different_ that it filled her with dread. She never saw her own face twist like this — never saw it filled with so much hate and pride.

_And it was her mother._

Either one of those thoughts would’ve been terrifying, but both together—

Clarke was dying.

She was sure of it.

A cloud of doom hung over her, making her feel like all the light and hope inside of her had been snuffed out.

“He’s new,” Abby commented, her eyes leaving Clarke’s for the first time. She examined Murphy, her lip lifting with disdain. “What happened to your last pet? Grow tired?”

 _That_ broke her free of her shock.

Bellamy.

She was talking about Bellamy.

Clarke stepped forward without thinking, her hand curling tightly around her wand, her lips pulling back to match the snarl on her mother’s face — _her face —_ across the alley from her.

Clarke opened her mouth to counter her comment. She desperately wished that something — _anything_ — would come from her mouth. She wanted to tell her to go to hell, she wanted to tell her that she was a horrible person, she wanted to _show her_ how much better she was without her.

_Nothing._

She struggled to breathe. Her lungs burned. Her thoughts swam.

Out of every outcome she imagined, she never expected to feel so helpless and alone and _lost_ when she faced her mother again.

“Oh, well, at least this one is _pure,”_ her mother added, her nose lifting. “A filthy reputation, but pure of blood. We can work with that, baby.”

“No,” Clarke rasped, her anger finally overcoming the shock and petrifying fear. “I’m not— we’re not— I don’t—” She struggled to think, struggled to speak. Abby’s expression remained neutral. Clarke wasn’t sure if she’d rather see her lips pulled back in a cruel laugh or her eyebrows furrowed with concern. Clarke’s gaze pulled towards the wizard on the street, still cowering against the building. A rigidness filled her. She lifted her wand, pointing it in the direction of her mother. “I told you already; drop your wand.”

She laughed; a laugh that wasn’t so different from when they’d watch Quidditch games together when she was younger, or when they shopped for gowns to wear to galas, or—

Clarke shook herself. The woman in front of her was more monster than the mother she remembered.

“You’re cute, Clarke.” Abby strolled forward, closing the distance between them. Her throat tightened and panic filled her. She fought to hide it. “You know, this reminds me of when you used to get in my closet and play dress up,” she teased. “You look like a _child_ who doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Funny,” Clarke snapped, her voice even, “considering you’re wearing my face right now. Guess we can both look like idiotic children.”

She cocked an eyebrow coolly. _“Your_ face?” Abby clicked her tongue and twirled her wand carelessly. “You’re upset about this?”

“You’re dressed as me. You’re pretending to be me.”

Abby smiled. “Ah. So you _are_ upset. Clarke, honey, let me remind you that _you did this first._ This is fair game thanks to you. Consider this… what goes around, comes around. That’s what your filthy pet Muggles like to say, isn’t it?”

 _Hogwarts._ Abby was talking about Hogwarts. She knew it as soon as she said it. Another wave of cold washed over her.

_She knew._

_She knew she went to Hogwarts._

_She knew she pretended to be her with Polyjuice Potion._

_And now—_

Now, she was paying her back.

“You know, your little playtime at Hogwarts was _inspirational,”_ Abby said. Her voice was smug and on the brink of laughter, proving that her words were anything but the truth. This was just one big joke to her. _This was one big game._ “I never would’ve had this idea if it wasn’t for you.”

“And what idea is that?” Clarke pressed, her hand shaking. 

Abby was close enough now to see the tremors running through her. She lifted an eyebrow, but never broke eye contact. “You’re out of your depth, Clarke.”

 _“What_ idea?” she snapped, taking a step forward.

“Acting as someone else is so… _freeing.”_ Abby circled around both her and— _fuck._ Clarke hadn’t realized just how much distance she put between her and Murphy and now Abby stood in the middle of them. “Despite you carelessly and thoughtlessly _leaving your own mother_ — your very own _blood_ — I still can take care of you.” Clarke gripped her wand tighter. “I did this for _you,_ Clarke. While you only thought of yourself when you pretended to be me, I’m thinking of _you.”_

“You’re hurting people,” she accused. The wizard that had been tortured was behind her now; he was all the evidence she needed. Abby stood mere feet away from her, her face still a perfect replica of Clarke’s. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Murphy a few feet away from Abby, his wand pointed directly at her, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two women. “You’re wearing my face and _hurting people._ How is that taking care of me!? How is—”

She laughed sharply. “You think _this_ is all I’ve done for you? No, honey. This is _nothing.”_ Somehow, Clarke doubted she was lying. She also doubted any of her other _gifts_ for Clarke were less horrifying than this one. “Your reputation is in shambles. You _left_ me with a mess to clean up. You ran away with a _boy_ — a blood traitor, no less — and—”

“Don’t talk about him,” she snapped, taking a step closer to her. Abby’s lips curled up the slightest bit; if Clarke didn’t know her own face so well, she would’ve missed it.

“Oh. You don’t want me talking about your blood traitor?” she taunted. Clarke’s grip tightened on her wand. _She refused to play these games._ “What was his name again? Bellamy, was it? Yes. Bellamy Blake. A Gryffindor. Born to an Aurora Blake, older brother to Octavia.” She cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I believe that’s the _same_ Octavia as the one causing loads of trouble at Hogwarts. Maybe I should give the castle a visit — help them out.”

Clarke saw red. She took a step closer.

“I’m very glad to see you’ve come to your senses in terms of choosing a romantic partner.” She glanced back at Murphy, smirking. He didn’t flinch. “Although, he’s supposed to be dead. He’ll do though. We can make a deal with his father, baby, and things will be fine.” She spread her hands wide. “You see? I’m not a monster you paint me to be. I’m reasonable.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m offering you a deal, Clarke — the best one you’re going to get.” She circled back around Clarke and, once again, Murphy was at her back. Abby’s gaze drifted over her shoulder, settling on him. “You too, I suppose, John. I’m offering both of you a place at Griffin Manor. I will go to John’s father and _tell him_ to take him back into the family. He’ll be a true pureblood again, once his father gives him back the family name, and I’ll give you my blessing for marriage.” Clarke was so shocked that she choked on her words. “I am willing to give you everything you want, hon. The boy of your choosing. A place at home. Your reputation. _Everything._ You can come home and it’ll be like nothing ever changed.”

The silence was thick.

Clarke’s heart pounded in her chest. Pure rage made the world tilt around her.

_Like nothing ever changed._

It was her worst nightmare.

“Mom,” she croaked, “so much has changed that you don’t know who I am anymore. You don’t know what I want. Do you think I’m as selfish as you are? That I’m just doing this to make _your_ life hell?”

This had never been about reputations, or boys, or home, or family, or getting back at her mother, _or anything._

It had _always_ been about doing what was right.

This had always been bigger than her. Did her mother not see?

Abby frowned. “Stop acting like children. Stop playing games. It’s time for _both of you_ to realize your responsibilities to your family — to your _people —_ and come home.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m being _nice,_ Clarke. I could be mean. I could be the bad guy you paint me to be.”

Clarke’s lips curled. “You’re already a bad guy all on your own.”

“Oh, really? You think I’m a bad guy, Clarke? _There are no bad guys in this world;_ only people who are strong enough to make the tough choices, and those that cower in fear. _But I can be mean._ I can be mean, just for you, hon.”

Abby turned around sharply. Clarke took a step after her, intending to chase her, intending to yell until she understood. She wanted to scream that she would burn Abby’s cause to the ground. She wanted to make her see how _wrong_ this all was — make her see just how _different_ she was now.

She wanted to make her see that she wasn’t on her side; that she had never been on her side; that she will never _be_ on her side.

Murphy’s hand darted out to grab her wrist, holding her back from chasing after Abby. She didn’t fight his grip — not until Abby pointed her wand at the injured wizard on the ground — not until she raised her eyebrows coolly, begging for a challenge.

“No! Mom, don’t—!” 

Clarke let out a scream when a jet of green light hit the man in the chest.

_His body crumpled to the dirt road — dead._

She let out an anguished scream and surged forward. Murphy’s arm caged her back, holding her tight to his chest. Clarke screamed so loudly that her throat ached.

Abby didn’t flinch.

“Remember, Clarke,” she said simply. “This is what you wanted.” Clarke couldn’t hold back a sob. Her heart ached. _Dead._ The innocent man — most likely a Muggleborn — was _dead. He was dead because of her._ He was dead and— “You want me to be a bad guy? Fine. I’ll be a bad guy. I’ll start with Octavia Blake, or maybe _Bellamy,_ and—”

Clarke broke free from Murphy’s grasp with a strangled cry. On pure instinct, she pointed her wand in her mother’s direction, urging all the _hate_ and _anger_ and _anguish_ flow through her. Her mind quieted to a hush, leaving only one thought behind.

_End it._

It all happened too fast.

She was blown backwards from the force of an explosion. Clarke flew back into Murphy’s chest, knocking both of them to the ground. She managed to shield her face as glass rained down, the shockwave from the explosion causing all windows in the alley to shatter.

She was dazed from the explosion. She blinked owlishly up at the night sky, entranced by long tendrils of fog sweeping towards the clouds. The ground was cool under her body — a striking contrast to the rolling heat from the fire raging across the alley.

_Fire._

Her head pounded as she pulled herself up. Her ears rang. Her arms were bruised.

_Fire!_

Fire licked across the building that once stood tall and proud. The flames pulled together, weaving into patterns of destruction and chaos. A snake appeared in the smoke, its fangs gleaming as it lunged in her direction. The darkest part of the flames curled into an image of a skull. More and more images appeared in the flames as the fire ate away the building.

Dark magic. The formation of vile images guaranteed that.

The fire had been caused by dark magic.

“The dark arts suit you, Clarke,” Abby taunted. Her gaze swam as she glanced away from the cursed fire. Her mother stalked towards her, each one of her steps calm and even, her face filled with serenity. “I always knew it would; it’s in your blood.”

 _That was her? She was the one to cause the fire?_ She grew dizzy, feeling as though the world was spinning in circles around her.

Clarke tried to pull herself from the ground, but couldn’t move. Her limbs refused to listen to her instructions. Her body felt disjointed and distant.

Abby grew closer. 

The panic in her chest swelled.

“Stop playing pretend. Look at what you’ve done; what you’ve destroyed; who you’ve hurt.” Abby came to a stop, the toe of her boot only mere inches away from Clarke’s forearm. “You’re just like me, Clarke. _We’re the same._ You’re a monster, and it’s time you come home.”

Clarke tried to scramble back. She tried to kick her feet. She tried to move her wand, but—

_Nothing._

Abby bent at the waist. Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulder, hanging inches away from her nose. She was smug and pleased, already knowing she won.

Clarke spat. “Go to hell.”

Her eyes flashed. A look of anger contorted her features. Her grip tightened on her wand. Clarke clenched her eyes shut, bracing for the pain of the Cruciatus Curse to follow, but—

Murphy’s hand gripped her bicep. The ground fell out from under her. The world twisted. Where she felt heat from the fire only seconds ago now sat a vast ocean of _cool._

The air was knocked out of her when she smacked against the ground. She gasped for breath and thrashed, breaking free from Murphy’s grasp. She pulled her wand up the same time she opened her eyes, but—

They weren’t in Knockturn Alley anymore.

They were back at the Muggle hotel.

Clarke glanced towards Murphy, who laid spread on the floor, clearly exhausted. Their eyes met. An understanding passed through them.

Clarke began to cry.

* * *

She was distraught.

It felt like her whole world had been flipped upside down.

There was so much that had gone wrong — so much that had happened — that Clarke didn’t know how to process it.

Murphy didn’t either.

He tried to distract her by ordering _Titanic_ from the hotel, but she couldn’t even bring herself to smile when he joked about porn and car sex.

She was angry.

Upset.

Panicked.

She was descending down a road of chaos. Quickly, she found an answer to the question she asked weeks ago; it turned out that there was _so much_ wrong with a little bit of chaos.

It helped to break it down into smaller chunks. It was easier to process that way, easier to think about and deal with.

1 - She saw her mother for the first time in eight months.

2 - Her mother was wearing her face. Abby Griffin, one of the most recognizable and feared Death Eaters, was pretending to be her. Her mother was impersonating her and torturing people.

3 - Her mother didn’t realize just how deep her hatred of You-Know-Who and his cause ran. She didn’t know just how much she hated blood prejudice and murder and everything that he stood for.

4 - She wasn’t able to save the man that had screamed and begged for help.

5 - She destroyed a shop using dark magic.

6 - Octavia was in danger.

It was hard to wrap her head around it all. _She kept asking why._ Why was her mother impersonating her? What was the point? What did she gain from it?

Murphy was the one who answered that. “She’s either trying to ruin your reputation, or she’s trying to protect her own. Either way, she wants people to associate you with dark magic and her precious Dark Lord.”

It made sense, especially paired with what Abby had said to her before things really went to shit. She had practically begged Clarke to come back to her; she was willing to go out of her way to offer her things that she thought would be enticing.

Her mother had always been obsessed with reputations and public appearances. It wasn’t good enough to be satisfied by her own life; she needed everyone to worship her and praise her. Having a daughter that refused to follow her family’s legacy must’ve tarnished the delicate reputation she built.

“My father told me that he’d rather have no son than one that betrayed him. Maybe she’s trying to cover it all up to protect that. She can’t have you out there, fighting for the Order, but she can’t find you to kill you.” Murphy scoffed. “Looks like my father came up with his own solution to that problem. Both your mother and Millicent said that I was supposed to be dead. He couldn’t get the real thing, so he faked it.” He tried to lighten the mood by joking. “I guess I’m a ghost now.”

Neither of them laughed.

Clarke doubted she’d ever find out the truth. She would have to assume that Murphy was right, that Abby was pretending to be her to convince people she was still with them and protect the family reputation.

For now, she had to be okay with not having answers.

(She was working on it.)

* * *

The rush to make contact with Bellamy increased after that. 

_She had to warn him. She had to tell him that Octavia was in danger — that_ he _was in danger._

Four days after they ran into her mother in Knockturn Alley, they made contact through the Muggle comic books.

Clarke had left a copy of a Superman comic in the smouldering ashes of the White Wyvern in Knockturn Alley, a version of the _Cave inimicum_ spell cast on it. She hoped someone from the Order was still working as an Auror. She hoped that, whoever they were, they would recognize the square of missing space as an object being hidden from view. She hoped that they’d think to use the latest Potterwatch password to break the charm and reveal the comic. She hoped that her message somehow found its way to Bellamy.

_Hope, hope, hope._

She never liked relying on hope, but she clung to it that week.

She left the message for him on Monday. All she had left to do was wait until the Potterwatch show on Friday.

_A week never crawled by so slowly._

* * *

_May 1, 1998_

Clarke couldn’t stifle her laughter anymore. Out of everything Murphy tried to do to keep her spirits up over the last week, the time where he did nothing worked the best.

Murphy glared at her in the reflection of the mirror. “I look horrible.”

“You look _great._ Very cute.” 

Clarke tied off the end of the single French braid and stepped back to admire his hair. While they had been on the run, neither of them cut their hair, which resulted in Murphy’s hanging into his eyes _all the time._ A simple solution would’ve been to attempt a haircut. A _more fun_ solution was to plait his fringe off of his forehead.

Murphy lightly ran his fingertips along the interlocking strands of hair, still frowning. “Call me cute again and you die, Griffin.”

She snorted. “Fuck off, Murphy. I know you like it.” He stayed silent. She grinned to herself as she picked up her toothbrush out of her bag of toiletries. “I told you that it would look good.”

“I hope you know I’m a fucking fantastic friend,” Murphy mumbled. “When I die, I want you to remember me as your _best_ friend, Griffin. At my funeral, talk about how I constantly fed your Lucky Charms addiction and let you braid my hair and—”

 _“BREAKING NEWS!_ I repeat we have breaking news!”

Clarke and Murphy both froze, their eyes locking in the mirror.

_The radio._

She had left it set up on her bed, waiting for the Potterwatch broadcast to start in a few hours. There was an urgency and excitement to Lee’s voice that made Clarke’s heart leap into her throat. She was flying out of the bathroom before she could think twice, her toothbrush hanging limply from her hand.

“We are calling on all friends of Potterwatch tonight. Lightning has struck at Hogwarts! I repeat; _lightning has struck at Hogwarts._ We are receiving reports that Harry Potter has arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This is our time to take a final stand and fight back. Bring all those who are loyal and willing to fight for what’s right.” A pause, then, “this is Lee Jordan and the Potterwatch crew, signing out one final time. See you on the other side.”

_The radio went dead._

Clarke and Murphy stood frozen for a long moment as the news processed.

_A final stand._

This was it.

The final battle.

The battle that McGonagall and Kane had told her about.

The battle that Kane and Diyoza were training them for.

Clarke turned to him, her heart hammering. She already knew where she stood. _But what about him?_

“Murphy… We have to go,” she begged. “We _have_ to.”

He met her gaze, his expression one of stone. For a moment, she was hit with the irrational fear that he was going to argue with her.

Murphy grinned. “Let’s fucking end this thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end and I'm actually really pumped to be writing the Battle of Hogwarts. I've don't think I told too many people that this was where this fic was heading, so... surprise?
> 
> Next chapter might take a bit longer because it'll be heavier :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	39. Chapter 38: Shadows in the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you wanted to know what Murphy is wearing this chapter (and what he purchased at Tesco last chapter). [Here you go](https://twitter.com/pawprinter1/status/1249155315557425153) (the link leads to my Twitter).

**_CLARKE_ **

_May 1, 1998_

“Hogwarts’ wards won’t allow us to Apparate directly into the school,” Clarke recalled as she slipped off her pyjamas. She fumbled as she grabbed her shirt, her hands shaking from nerves. “We’re going to have to Apparate into Hogsmeade and walk the remaining distance to the castle.”

Murphy made a sound of displeasure from behind her. While they were facing away from each other as they changed, she could imagine the bitter expression on his face. “That’s a twenty minute walk, Clarke.”

She shoved her shirt over her head and frowned at the wall. “Quit being a baby. We’re going to be on our feet all night if what Lee said is true. If this is the final stand, if—”

“I’m not complaining about walking,” he snapped. “I just meant that we are going to be walking for a _long_ time. Lee said it was an urgent message. We’re all supposed to get there as quickly as we can.”

He had a point.

The battle could start without them. While they walk through the forest between the Wizarding village and Hogwarts, the battle could just as easily start and end without them arriving in time.

“We can summon brooms,” she suggested, the half-idea forming. This whole evening had turned into one half-formed idea after another. They were improvising as they went, having no time to truly sit and plan. “We’ll borrow some from the Quidditch shop in town and fly the remaining distance. That’ll work, won’t it?” She tugged her jeans up and managed to do the button in one try. “Done.”

“Yeah, I’m decent.”

They both turned back towards each other. 

“Let’s go,” Clarke urged quickly. She had changed from her pyjamas into the only clothing she owned; a pair of Muggle denim jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, along with her dark grey robe she used for vigilantism in Knockturn Alley.

The wood of her wand felt warm in her hands. The air felt alive with electricity. Her blood rushed through her veins.

 _This was it._ The news came so suddenly that she hadn’t processed it yet. All she knew was panic and adrenaline and _they needed to get to Hogwarts as fast as physically possible._

Murphy stubbed his toe in his haste to get to her side of the room, swearing the remaining distance. His cloak was thrown on haphazardly and his overalls weren’t done up all the way. They both looked like messes.

Which, really, they were.

They didn’t have time to transfigure their clothing into something more acceptable for Wizarding society. They didn’t have time to do up their cloaks. They didn’t have time to pack up their belongings, or undo their silly braided hair, or _anything._

He reached for her hand, but hesitated. He frowned. “Fuck. We can’t go to Hogsmeade.”

“What?”

“Potterwatch,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. Clarke lifted her eyebrow, her patience already wearing thin from the panic she was feeling. “Last week, they said that Dementors are in Hogsmeade. Where Dementors go, Death Eaters follow. You know this.”

They didn’t have time to think of another plan. He was right earlier — the battle could be happening _now,_ and they were wasting time. They needed to get to Hogwarts.

“We’ll deal with it if that’s true,” she said. Murphy didn’t look pleased with her answer. “What? You have a better plan?”

“No, but—”

“We’re wasting time debating this.” She reached for his hand. “If we die, you can tell me ‘I told you so.’”

“If we die, I’m going to _ensure_ we both are resurrected so I can kill you myself.” Clarke snorted and lifted her wand, picturing the sloped roofs and cobblestone roads of Hogsmeade. Before she could complete the spell to take them there, Murphy tugged her hand. “Wait.”

She opened her eyes. He looked concerned. It was a far stretch from the determination and fire she saw only minutes ago.

“What? What’s wrong?”

His fingers tightened on hers. “I just… Thank you.” He swallowed thickly. 

Clarke’s panic slowed for a moment, prioritizing Murphy over everything else. He was being serious right now. _Too serious._ It made her stomach flip.

“You don’t need to thank me,” she said, the words leaving her mouth without a second thought. “You never need to thank me.”

He laughed wetly. “Listen, Griffin, because this is the only time I’ll say this sappy shit. _I love you._ Okay? Don’t ask me why because I don’t know — you annoy the shit out of me sometimes — and don’t ask me when because I don’t know that either. But _I do;_ I love you. And we’re… We’re walking into a battle. _A real fucking battle._ Not everyone who enters that castle is going to walk out. _People are going to die._ Just… _Don’t let that be you._ Walk out of that castle at the end of this, Griffin. Okay?”

“Murphy—”

“I know you. I know that if you see Bellamy, you’ll do anything to get to him. _I get that._ But… Don’t give up your life. I don’t beg for anything — never have — but I will beg for this.” Clarke’s throat tightened. Her chin wobbled. He looked just as close to tears as she was. “Come out of this one alive. Be smart. Be safe. Be a Slytherin — cunning and resourceful and _selfish._ Please be fucking selfish and think of yourself in there. Don’t be fucking stupid and brave like a Gryffindor — we know where that gets you. Heroes never have happy endings; look at the Greek myths Bellamy was always talking about. _They all died._ Don’t die on me, Clarke.”

She threw herself forward, pulling him in for a tight hug.

_When did he become so important to her?_

Clarke pressed her nose against her shoulder and forced her tears down.

_They didn’t have time to cry._

“Don’t die on me either,” she requested, her voice breaking. Murphy clutched at her back, refusing to let her step away and break the hug. She reveled in the last seconds of peace she had with him. “You're my family, Murphy, and I love you too. We stick together, got it? We will stick together through this battle. We’ll get through this.” 

His smile was grim as he pulled out of her grasp. “Just think, after this, it’ll all be over — one way or another. We’ll either be free or dead.” With those reassuring words, he broke the hug and retook her hand.

_Freedom or death._

She hoped for one over the other.

Clarke twisted her wand. They Disapparated with a crack.

Before the world had completely formed around them, a high-pitched scream echoed through the dead of night. Clarke collapsed to her knees, her hands coming up to clutch at her ears and looked around panicked.

The cobblestone was nearly ice-cold against her knees. The air was crisp, as if it was the middle of winter, not the height of spring. She could see her breath ghosting out in front of her.

They were in a cluttered alley of Hogsmeade between two buildings. Tarps hung over pallets of wood and trash, obscuring the view of them from the street. It was the perfect spot to Apparate too; it was close to the edge of the village, which made it easy to escape into the forest and make their way towards Hogwarts without being detected. 

_But that noise._

Before she could place it, the sound cut off abruptly. While her ears rang from the aftermath, it was easy to hear the distant shouts of voices. A chill washed over Clarke.

Murphy grasped her wrist and shoved her forward roughly, sending her towards a black tarp. “Go!”

Clarke didn’t hesitate. She scrambled underneath the black tarp, Murphy hot on her heels. As soon as he was under the tarp, he pulled it shut, sealing them in darkness.

Time seemed to crawl by for a long moment. It was just them and the darkness. Her chest pressed into the ground with every breath she took, her limbs seemed frozen with fear, the rush of her blood made the world grow quiet.

It was hard to breathe, hard to think. Clarke didn’t know what they just stumbled in on. The voices — they sounded excited. And the ringing — it sounded like an alarm. 

_An alarm._

A Caterwauling Charm.

The realization hit Clarke roughly, making dread curl its hands further around her heart. Instinctually, she gripped her wand tighter and grasped Murphy’s forearm. She felt, more than saw, his face shift towards hers.

“Quiet,” he encouraged her, his voice hardly above a breath. “What is it?”

“The alarm. It’s a Caterwauling Charm.” 

Clarke didn’t have much experience with the charm itself, but she recognized it from Kane’s textbook. The text described it as a shrieking charm activated by motion, used to keep trespassers away from wizards’ yards.

“Why would it be here?” Murphy wondered. “This is public space. Hogsmeade is a village it—”

Murphy’s voice cut off abruptly and his hand smashed against her mouth, smothering any response she planned to give. She allowed his hand to remain pressed against her face, suddenly too scared to move an inch, afraid that the slightest noise would give them away.

“Potter!” a voice taunted, their tone sickly sweet. “Potter, we know you’re here! We _heard_ you. Can’t hide from us forever!”

Clarke’s heart stopped altogether. It felt like the floor was ripped out from under her.

_They were looking for Potter._

The Caterwauling Charm was set up to alert Death Eaters of movement through Hogsmeade. They were hoping to catch Harry Potter.

_They thought they were Harry Potter._

Clarke’s mind raced with possibilities. They had to get out of here. They couldn’t be caught by Death Eaters — not when they were so close to getting to the castle, not when they were so close to taking their final stand.

Before her thoughts spun a plan to get them out, the thin crack of light streaming in from where the tarp didn’t quite meet the ground disappeared.

She stopped breathing.

_Someone was right in front of them._

Her heart pounded in her chest so loudly that she was sure whoever was standing in front of the tarp could hear it. The air was charged with electricity as her magic bubbled to the surface, already prepared for a fight. 

“We’re done playing your games, Potter! The Dark Lord wants to have a chat. Come now and—”

The shrieking alarm came to life again.

Clarke grit her teeth to prevent herself from flinching against the ear-piercing scream. Her gaze never left the slot between the ground and the tarp, straining her eyes to see the world beyond the thin black blanket.

“For fuck sake!”

The person who had blocked the light took a few steps away from the tarp, allowing the sliver of light to flood back. Clarke could see the shiny gloss of their shoes and the black of the cloak against the ground for a split second. Then, they stepped away, and all she could see was the alley.

“The alarm’s coming from back by Hog’s Head Inn!”

Several shouts echoed into the night, none of the words distinguishable to Clarke. Shoes slapped against the pavement as the surrounding Death Eaters ran towards the pub, drilling more fear into Clarke’s heart.

_She didn’t realize how many Death Eaters had been close by._

The alarm must’ve drawn them right to their location.

Close.

It had been close.

As soon as the echo of voices and pounding of pavement grew distant, Clarke sprang into action, knowing they had mere seconds to escape. As long as the alarm was still ringing, that meant it hadn’t been reset, which meant they couldn’t set it off again as they ran.

She hauled herself to her feet, throwing the tarp roughly from her shoulders and began to sprint in the opposite direction the Death Eaters did, dragging Murphy behind her. He was quick on the uptake, stumbling only once, before he was sprinting at her side.

Clarke didn’t have a care in the world for their original plan. She hoped to stay silent and stick to the shadows, but the sheer number of Death Eaters in the Wizarding village made that plan go to hell. They couldn’t sneak past that many pairs of eyes, especially not when an alarm was set up to alert them of their every move.

The streets of the village were familiar. She spent as much time in Hogsmeade as possible when she was a student at Hogwarts. She knew every bump in the road and twist of the street and slant of the building. They didn’t have to stop and gain their bearings as they raced through the streets, Clarke leading them towards the forest.

Screw stealing a Quidditch broom. They didn’t have the time or opportunity to do that. Every second they spent in this village, the more risk they were in. They’d just have to take their chances, walk through the forest, and hope they arrived before it was too late.

Her palms were slick. Her chest heaved. She felt sick already and the battle hadn’t even begun.

Soon enough, the cobblestone of the streets turned to dirt roads, which quickly turned to soft mud. The forest was a welcome relief. As soon as they burst through the treeline, she felt a wave of relief crash over it. Maybe it was a small victory — one that didn’t matter in the long run — but she was going to relish this feeling for as long as she could.

They did it.

The trees allowed them more cover than before. They were far enough away from Hogsmeade that she was sure they were out of reach of the Caterwauling Charm and out of sight from the Death Eaters.

Clarke paused for a second, her back pressing against the bark of a tree. Her breath came out in front of her as tendrils of fog, the night was so cold. Her fingers shook at her sides from a mixture of adrenaline and fear. 

Murphy leaned against the tree opposite to her to catch his breath, being just as winded as she was. He gestured vaguely to the village behind them. “Well, at least— at least we know we aren’t too late.”

If the battle was already on, none of their forces would be spared to watch the town. If anything, it sounded as if they didn’t even know Potter had already made it to Hogwarts like Potterwatch said.

_I’m going to lose everyone I love today._

The thought hit Clarke so suddenly that it felt like she was at free-fall. Cold fear gripped her stomach, making her whole body turn to ice.

She didn’t know where the thought came from, but did it really matter? It was all she could think about now.

_We won’t be able to win._

Clarke shook herself and tried to refocus her mind. That was fear talking. They were going to be fine. They _had_ to be fine. 

_‘Being brave means being afraid of something and doing it anyways.’_

It was what she told Murphy mere weeks ago. Fear was normal. The absolute terror that was slowly sneaking into her heart and wrapping around her bones — it was normal.

She was supposed to be scared.

She had to welcome the fear and act despite of it.

Clarke pushed herself off of the tree, still catching her breath, and took note of their surroundings. The village was still visible beyond the treeline. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought it almost looked peaceful and quiet, just like any other night.

She also noticed that they were on the complete opposite side as the path to Hogwarts. They’d need to make their way around the outskirts of town if they wanted to find the path to the castle.

“Let’s go.”

They moved quickly, both knowing they didn’t have much time to waste. As they walked through the forest, Clarke kept an eye on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, watching for any Death Eaters and hoping the tree coverage was enough. 

She tried to ignore the fear and dread looming over her but, with each step, those emotions felt less like a cloud hanging over her and more like an animal grasping at her shoulders. 

_If the war made you a murderer, this battle will make you a monster._

The idea of having to kill people made her blood run cold. Her soul felt like it was quickly turning to ice, as if the fire of hope had been snuffed out completely. 

Her last thought was unshakable. 

She was going to die here.

It felt as real as seeing a Grim or reading her fate in the stars. It wasn’t a worry or a fear — it was a fact.

Somehow, she knew she wasn’t going to make it to see the morning sun.

Clarke was pulled from the edge of that dark abyss of thoughts by another wailing siren — this one too close for comfort. On reflex, she dropped to the ground and pressed against a nearby tree, pulling Murphy with her.

Spells snapped just beyond the treeline. People shouted. Even when the siren was silenced, the people weren’t. 

“Bellamy!”

Her heart leapt to her throat. She didn’t think her heart could race any faster than it already was, but she was proven wrong. 

_Clarke could’ve sworn she just heard Bellamy’s name._

Against better judgement, Clarke peered around the tree, her hand coming up to shield her eyes against the flashing lights. 

She couldn’t make out faces — just silhouettes. A group of people in long robes faced off against two people by Hog’s Head Inn, each group trading red and green spells faster than she could see. 

_Bellamy._

The name had been shouted so clearly. Clarke’s heart thudded. Her wand twitched. She contemplated running towards the growing battle on the off chance that it really was him, on the off chance that—

A bright light shot up into the sky, reminding her of lightning flashing through the clouds. The night sky was briefly lit up by a golden hue, outlining the clouds and black cloaks that lined the sky. She didn’t pay attention to the swarms of Death Eaters and Dementors above Hogsmeade — no — she couldn’t pull her eyes away from the skirmish several yards away.

As soon as the sky was lit up, she saw them.

_She saw him._

If she thought the world was impossibly still and quiet before, she was wrong. Suddenly, Clarke couldn’t feel the sharpness of the bark under hand, nor the chill causing goosebumps to run down her arms, nor the dizziness that made her tilt sideways.

Bellamy.

Her eyes locked on his form several yards away, still too far away to see his expression or the details of his face. Her mind grew blank as she took him in all at once; the way his robe moved with the wind; how he moved out of the way of incoming spells like he was performing a dance; how he flowed seamlessly with the woman beside him; how the greens and the blues reflected off his body, making it seem as if he was the one emitting the light.

Clarke couldn’t think past that.

_Bellamy._

He was here. He was alive.

And he was ferocious, reminding Clarke of Ancient Greek heroes from the stories he told her. The lock of his jaw, the defiance in his eye, the speed at which he shot spells towards the mass of Death Eaters. 

He was unmovable, unbreakable, unstoppable.

Clarke recognized the woman standing beside Bellamy instantly. She moved like a viper lashing out, each one of her movements sharp and precise. She wore a Gryffindor robe, just like the last time they met, but had cut her hair to hang around her shoulders now.

Octavia.

A flash of green swept past her mere inches from the side of her face. She landed on the ground in her effort to dodge. Bellamy stepped forward, a shield arcing out of his wand and—

She had to go.

Clarke was already pushing herself to shaky legs before the thought was completely formed.

She had to get to Bellamy.

_Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy._

He was the only thought on her mind. Nothing else in the world mattered — all she could think of was getting to him, protecting him, fighting beside him. Her whole body ached to be beside his again, to be wrapped up in his arms, to feel his steady heart beating under her palm. Everything in her screamed to race across the barren streets of the village, to throw herself at the Death Eaters casting Killing Curses in his direction, to rip their masks from their faces and _punch_ until—

“Clarke!”

Murphy’s voice was a sharp yelp — one filled with so much panic and pure dread and it broke her from her trance. Just as quickly as before, a tidal wave of darkness crashed over her, pulling her from the light, pulling her deep under the currents.

_Death. Fear. Dread. Darkness. Cold._

Clarke turned back to Murphy just in time to see a black cloak swoop close enough to grasp. Her emotions shifted so suddenly that it made her feel numb and hollow — almost as if her soul had been ripped from her chest.

_Dementors._

Clarke scrambled backwards until her back slammed against the tree, desperate to put distance between herself and the dark creature.

Murphy fell to the ground beside her, his wand knocked from his grasp. The creature swooped again, this time much closer than before and—

_Clarke had never felt fear like this before._

The fear ripped into her soul, causing her whole body to short-circuit. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. 

The creature was inches away from her face. It was the first time she’d seen under the hood of one of these creatures; the first time she saw the scabbing flesh over the eye sockets, the first time she saw the peeling and greying skin hanging loosely off the bones, the first time she felt her soul seemingly rip from her bones.

A coldness wrapped around her, almost as if she plunged below the water of the Arctic. The darkness flooded her senses, wrapping its way through her lungs, seeping into her bones, wiping out her sight and her strength. Faintly, she was aware of her head colliding with the roots of the tree she pressed against as the fight was sucked from her body alongside her soul.

_This is how she would die._

A Dementor’s Kiss wouldn’t kill her, yet she felt like she was dying — as if every aspect of what made her _her_ was shriveling up like a rose without water. She was drowning and burning at the same time.

_While it was only a fraction of a memory pulled from her mind, it felt as though it stretched forever._

Maybe time had no meaning anymore.

She stood above Jugson, her chest heaving, her wand pointed at him. A wave of emotions crashed over her; fear of being a monster, fear for her life, fear for Bellamy. As the green light of the Killing Curse washed over him, she could feel something snap in her chest — something giving way to the unnatural act she committed, something coming loose.

Again, another flash of a memory, just as horrible as the one before. The Death Eater standing above her, his wand pressed against her throat, her mind being pulled apart piece by piece. She remembered begging him to stop, remembered pleading and crying and—

Another — this time, one much older than the others. The Death Eater mask was smooth under her fingers and cold — _so cold._ She was young, but she knew what this meant — she knew the implications of why it was in her mother’s closet. Her mother was something from her textbook. It was in this moment that she realized her mother was a Death Eater. Her mother was a monster.

 _Maybe she was a monster._ Clarke couldn’t tell if it was memory or nightmare — maybe it was both — but it struck her with so much fear that it felt as though she wasn’t truly attached to her body anymore. She recognized the silk of the Death Eater robes against the palm of her hands. The weight across her face was unmistakably the silver Death Eater mask. _She was a Death Eater._ It was _her_ wand in her hands, used to do unspeakable things.

Her wand.

_Her wand, her wand, her wand._

Clarke felt sluggish, like she was moving through water. Her limbs felt distant. Her mind was foggy. Her breath came out as harsh rasps, as though she was breathing smoke.

_Her wand. Her wand. Her wand._

She could feel it in her hand, burning as bright as it always did, sending jolts of warmth up and through her shoulder. She clung to that warmth, fighting against the overwhelming feeling of despair and hopelessness.

_Fight. Get up and fight._

The cold was unbearable. The weight across her chest was impossible to lift. Her mind was fuzzy.

_Bellamy._

He was the first thought to surface, clearer than the night around her. As her vision was starting to grow dark around the edges, she held tightly to the thought of him. She imagined running out of the forest, imagined racing to his side, imagined standing shoulder-to-shoulder — exactly how it was always meant to be.

Partners. 

They were always meant to be partners.

Maybe they hadn’t realized it, but Kane did. Kane was their anchor — _was her anchor —_ for a long time, pushing them towards each other. And, really, once he helped propel them on their paths, nothing could stop it.

They were two magnets drawn towards each other.

Two binary stars circling one another.

Clarke clung to the idea of them — her and Bellamy — standing beside each other again, facing down any enemies that came their way. They were strongest together — unmovable, unbreakable, unstoppable.

Together.

_Together, together, together._

With that thought echoing in her mind, she locked her jaw and forced her eyes open. The rotting corpse of the Dementor above her didn’t pierce her as deep as it did seconds before. Her soul flared with warmth and hope and—

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

The space in front of her came to life, an echo of the light Bellamy shot into the sky moments ago. While this light was blue, the warmth it radiated reminded her of the first sunrise of spring. Warmth washed across her, erasing all traces of cold that wormed itself into her heart and soul, driving away all the darkness that threatened to suffocate her.

The Dementors hovering inches above her and Murphy let out inhuman shrieks that made her blood curdle, but didn’t make her flinch. The blue mist swirled above their heads, chasing away both the literal and metaphorical darkness, chasing away the monsters that threatened to eat their souls and erase their happiness.

Murphy was gasping and shaking beside her. Clarke kept her eyes trained above them, locked on the glowing animal.

_Locked on her Patronus._

It only took seconds for the Dementors to flee the light. They scattered into the sky. The chill left the air. The weight across her chest lifted.

Clarke sucked in breath after breath and wiped her free hand across her forehead, wicking away the cold sweat that gathered there. Even after the Dementors fled, she maintained the Patronus, not trusting her eyes that all the monsters were gone.

“Holy shit. It’s a wolf.”

While he sounded weak, she could hear the amusement and awe in his voice.

Clarke swallowed thickly and brought the misty animal closer to their bodies.

_A wolf._

Despite being surprised, she couldn’t argue against how _right_ it felt.

She studied the animal for another long second, basking in the warmth it gave her, before the spell faded and the mist dissolved. While it no longer felt like she was bathing in the sun, she could still feel the remnants lingering in her soul.

_Light. Hope. Strength. Joy._

Her head fell to the ground, hitting the soft mud with a quiet plunk. She stared at the clouded sky for a long moment, a breathless laugh leaving her.

_She did it._

She was exhausted — probably from the amount of magic she used to conjure the Patronus, or maybe because her fucking soul was nearly ripped from her body — _but she was unbelievably happy._

Clarke wasn’t broken.

She thought back to the conversation she had with Raven all those months ago, where she spoke about her fear for the first time. _She had been so scared that murdering Jugson had broken her soul — that the crimes she committed damaged her and prevented her from performing one of the purest forms of magic._

But she wasn’t.

Clarke knew she’d have to think about what this all meant later, but she reveled in the fact that _she was not a monster._

This war hadn’t made her a monster.

She _refused_ to let it turn her into a monster.

Clarke pushed herself onto her elbows and glanced towards Hogsmeade as soon as she gathered enough energy to move. The spot where there was a growing battle moments before now stood empty. She could see the remnants of the battle — scorch marks along buildings, shattered glass on the ground, and unconscious bodies in Death Eater robes scattered across the courtyard.

_No Bellamy._

She fell back to the ground and continued to try and catch her breath.

 _She saw Bellamy._ She was sure of it. Bellamy and Octavia had been mere feet away from her, but they were pulled apart again by circumstances beyond their control.

She patted the ground next to her without looking, connecting roughly with Murphy’s shoulder. He was still breathing — a good sign.

“I’m good,” he breathed, not waiting for her to ask. “I’m good.”

Her eyes slid closed. “We need to go.”

“I know.” Neither of them moved. “Just… just a few more minutes.”

She didn’t argue.

.

With the Death Eaters monitoring Hogsmeade unconscious, they returned to the village to grab brooms. Murphy was the one to break into the shop while she stood watch, her eyes never pausing in their scan of the streets around them, searching for both Death Eaters and Blakes alike.

When Murphy emerged with two _very_ expensive models of brooms and a smug smile on his lips, Clarke couldn’t help but laugh. She tried to remain stern — she really did — but-

“Nobody’s going to buy these tonight,” he reassured her. “Besides, we’re using them for the greater good. Got to go save the world and shit. They’ll understand.”

“Ah, right. That makes it better.” She took the offered broom from Murphy’s hands and studied the wood. It was different than the broom that she left back in Griffin Manor, but the logistics remained the same. A broom was a broom. “You know, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“I’m already going to hell. Why waste time pretending I have good intentions?” He mounted his broom and gave her a cheeky smile. “We’re most likely going to die tonight. Might as well take one last spin on a good broom.”

She couldn’t argue with that logic.

Clarke loved flying — she always had. She loved the wind in her hair, and being in control, and moving faster than she ever could while on the ground. She loved diving for Quaffles and screaming during matches and feeling _free._

It was the first time she had flown a broom in nearly a year, yet she didn’t relish in returning to her favourite pastime.

All she could think of was the upcoming battle. 

Or, rather, the battle they were already in the middle of.

“How’d you do it?” Murphy asked over the rush of the wind. The French braid in his hair kept it out of his eyes. “How’d you cast the Patronus?”

She wasn’t sure.

It was something she had been practicing for months, but never managed to grasp it. No matter which memory she chose, nothing was ever strong enough to produce the protective animal.

Except, this time, she didn’t use a memory.

She thought of Bellamy. She thought of their promise of doing things _together._ She thought of reuniting with him, and their friends, and winning the war, and being _free._

Her chosen memory wasn’t a memory.

_It was a dream._

It was hope strong enough to wash out the darkness.

When she told Murphy as much, he simply raised his eyebrows. “If I wasn’t confused before, I sure as hell am now.” He glanced at her. “You’re sticking with me, Griffin. Just in case we encounter any more flying rotting bodies.” A pause and then, “fuck. Bellamy’s here. You saw him.”

She heard bitterness in his voice, just the slightest amount. “You’ll see Raven soon,” she offered. When his shoulders tensed, she knew she guessed the exact thing that was bothering him. “If he’s here, so is she.”

They fell into a thick silence as they flew.

They were quickly approaching the castle. Despite still being several hundred feet away from Hogwarts, she could see movement across the front foot bridge. Quickly, she realized it wasn’t the Order like she originally thought. She caught sight of giants and trolls and black robes and silver masks.

You-Know-Who’s side was already gathering just outside the barrier.

“Let’s loop around to the back!” Clarke decided. Landing by Voldemort’s forces didn’t seem like a good idea — they’d easily be shot down by either side.

That was one problem they hadn’t discussed.

They were going to be targets of both sides of the battle. Death Eaters would try and kill them if they knew they were blood traitors. The Order didn’t know who they were either; they’d been hiding in safe houses, their identities only known by McGonagall and Diyoza.

They had targets painted on their backs from all angles.

“We need a plan,” Clarke said.

“Oh! Now you want to plan! Good timing, Clarke, we’re just about to fucking land in a battle zone.”

She scowled at him. “I said we’d plan later. Now is later, isn’t it? We need a plan before we go in there and die.”

“We are going to go in there and die with or without a plan.”

Clarke’s glare intensified. “Can you quit saying that!?” she snapped. “You beg me to do everything in my power to stay alive, but you’re such a hypocrite. You keep talking about dying!”

“I’m just being realistic. I can only dodge death so many times.” They made a wide arc around the school, avoiding the gathering area of You-Know-Who’s army. The sight of it made Clarke’s stomach twist. “What’s the plan?”

“We need to find McGonagall. If we don’t, then we risk the word not getting out that we’re on their side.”

He snorted. “Wouldn’t that be ironic? We get shot down by some of Potter’s precious pals.”

“Ironic is one way to put it. Pathetic is another.” 

Her eyes scanned the castle, taking in the movements across the courtyard and in the hallways illuminated by candlelight through the windows. It looked as though the whole castle had been thrown into chaos; hundreds of bodies were swarming around the grounds like ants. 

“Fine,” Murphy agreed. “We find McGonagall, then we find Raven and Bellamy.”

“Safety in numbers?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn’t smile. “No. I just don’t want to die alone.”

“Murphy!”

“I’m serious.” And, the worst part, was the fact that she _knew_ he was being serious. She could tell by the tone of his voice and the sombre look on his face. “You know we’re going in there to fight our _former_ _friends,_ right, Griffin? We are going to be standing alongside Potter and his pals, faced against our housemates and everyone we grew up with.”

“Not everyone,” she argued, even though his words struck a new sense of fear in her heart. “Not everyone follows him. Look at us. We grew up together and we’re on the right side.”

“They think they’re on the right side, too,” he snapped. He blew out a long breath. “People are going to see us fighting for Potter and they’re going to try and kill us more than the others. The rest of them — they’re just faces and numbers. But _us._ We’re personal. They’re going to see us and feel betrayed and try to teach us a lesson for betraying our own.”

Clarke was silent for a long moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew all this, but she hadn’t thought about it, not really. It was always at the back of her mind, always masked by something more pressing.

Now, she couldn’t think of anything else.

She swallowed thickly. “Our parents,” Clarke said simply. “My mother and your father are going to be there.” Her hands tightened on the handle of her broom. “They’re going to be looking for us.”

Suddenly, she got what Murphy was saying about this being personal for them. They weren’t just masked monsters that they were going to fight against — it was people she grew up with, people that she joked with, people that she once loved.

_People like her mother._

The war had always been personal, but this was different.

Murphy’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have a father. That _man_ isn’t my father. He stopped being that a long time ago.”

“He’s going to be looking for you,” Clarke told him. “My mother’s going to be looking for me.”

After what happened last time she saw her mother, this brought a new sense of fear to Clarke. Not only was she scared about what she was going to do to her, she was also terrified about what would happen if she saw Bellamy or Octavia. Her promise of harm still rang in her ears.

And, although she tried her best to ignore the way it made her feel sick, she was also terrified of herself. _When she last saw her mother, she used dark magic._ She was so angry and scared of the woman that she had been pushed towards dark magic.

_What else could her mother push her to do?_

The thought terrified her.

“So will half of those bastards. They’re not special.” Murphy pointed in the direction of the boat house — one of the only locations that seemed to be devoid of people. “Let’s land there and use the back doors to get into the castle.” 

Clarke pushed her thoughts to the side easily. She didn’t have time to worry right now. They were walking into a battle zone. They had targets painted on their backs in all directions. Murphy was right — Death Eaters were going to target them even more because of their histories.

She was right too. They were both going to be hunted by their parents. Somehow, even though she didn’t know what would happen if they found them, she knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty fate.

They stashed their brooms and grey cloaks in the boat house and hurried their way towards the castle. The winds were sharper without their Phoenix cloaks, but they both thought it was smart not to wear anything that could be mistaken for Death Eater robes. Their Muggle clothing underneath was a smarter choice. If someone caught sight of them out of the corners of their eyes, they’d easily think they were on Potter’s side, not Voldemort’s.

Her heart hammered in her chest as they climbed the familiar paths of Hogwarts. The night was too quiet for the amount of petrifying fear she felt in that moment. The world was slowly slipping to chaos, yet it looked _peaceful._ It felt wrong.

They were quiet as they moved, as if a spell had been cast over both of them. In the distance, she could hear the odd crowd cheering. It was easy to imagine the masses of Death Eaters she saw screaming into the night, growing excited by the prospect of spilling blood traitor and Muggleborn blood.

It was easy to get distracted from her thoughts about her mother despite the terror she felt knowing she’d be looking for her. As soon as they stepped through the wooden doors of the castle, they were bombarded by the chaos inside.

“Third years! This way!”

Clarke paused in the doorway, watching as a stream of young students were led through the vestibule and towards the moving staircases. The atmosphere was heavy. While students usually joked and laughed as they walked through the halls, these students were sombre and terrified.

She shouldn’t have been as shocked as she was. When she snuck into Hogwarts in January, the atmosphere had been the same. The castle was haunted and heavy — now more than ever.

After watching the coordinated and frantic movements of lines of students, Clarke realized they were all coming from the Great Hall and headed to one of the towers. 

If anything, McGonagall would also be in the Great Hall.

(With everything in her, she hoped Bellamy was too.)

They hadn’t taken more than five steps before Clarke saw a familiar head in the crowds. Her blonde hair bobbed up and down through the moving students as she went against the flow.

“Harper!”

Clarke broke away from Murphy and raced through the moving crowd to get to her friend. At the sound of her name, Harper had paused and turned in her direction. Their eyes locked for the first time in half a year and—

“Clarke!?”

They met in the middle with a hug, one filled with trembling hands and rambling words.

“You’re here!? I can’t believe you’re here!”

“We heard the call on Potterwatch.” Clarke pulled back from the hug and examined the Hufflepuff.

“Same with us.” Harper’s smile was warm and easy. Clarke forgot how easy it was to be around her. She forgot how sweet and warm and welcoming she was. It was her, after all, who gave Clarke her first pair of Muggle clothing and helped her adjust to life in the safe house. “I can’t believe it. I’m so happy to see you.”

Clarke could’ve cried at how genuine her words were. She was never one to have friends — not really — not like this. Not where months had passed, yet it felt only like days. Not where someone told her they missed her and she believed them.

“I missed you, too.”

Harper studied her before letting out a breathless laugh. “Merlin, you’re wearing Muggle clothing that isn’t mine.” She tugged on her sleeve and smiled. “It looks good.”

“You look good. Salazar, I was so worried about you. I haven’t seen you since—” Clarke paused. They both knew exactly when they last saw each other. It was on the last day of training at Kane’s, right before Death Eater’s attacked. “Is Monty—?”

“He’s here.” She glanced towards the mouth of the Great Hall briefly. “I need to find him actually. We’re taking the younger students out of the castle before all hell breaks loose.”

“If you’re taking kids out of the castle, be careful,” Clarke told her. “Death Eaters are lining up outside of the gate and the forest is filled with Dementors.”

“More than Dementors,” she corrected. “It’s like every vile creature to exist has crawled out of their holes for this battle. Ernie claims he saw an Acromantula.” She glanced towards the Great Hall again, her expression growing more serious. “We aren’t going outside though — too dangerous. We’re using a secret passageway through the seventh floor to Hogsmeade to get the kids out.”

“Hogsmeade isn’t safe either,” she said, a sudden fear rising in her. All Clarke could see was a bunch of young children getting attacked by the Death Eaters monitoring the village. If they were being sent there unprotected—

“It is now. Bellamy and his sister took the first group of underage students out through the passage and cleared the way for the rest of them.”

At the mention of his name, Clarke’s heart flew into her throat and her stomach dropped.

“Bellamy?” she pressed, her voice breathless and desperate. “You saw him? Is he okay? Is he—”

“I saw him a half hour ago on the seventh floor. He’s _fine._ Nervous and scared like the rest of us, but trying his best to hide it. Gryffindors.”

“What about Raven Reyes?” Murphy asked, stepping up beside Clarke. His voice sounded similar to hers — full of desperation and panic. Harper’s gaze shifted to his, but her expression remained steady. “Have you seen Raven Reyes? She’s a Ravenclaw.”

“I know her,” Harper assured him, “but, no, I haven’t seen her yet.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. “She wasn’t with Bellamy?”

“No. Bellamy is with the younger students — he’s organizing their extraction. I don’t know where Raven is or if she’s even here.” 

Without looking at him, Clarke could sense the tension and dread in Murphy. She heard it, too, when he spoke. “If you see her, can you tell her I’m looking for her? _Please?”_

Harper studied him for a long moment before her eyebrows raised. “And who should I say is looking for her?”

“John Murphy.”

With that, Harper stuck her hand out in his direction. “Well, John Murphy, I’m Harper McIntyre.” Murphy tentatively shook her hand as she turned to Clarke. “Looks like you’re not alone anymore, are you? You’re not the only Slytherin on our side.”

“I never was.”

Which was true. She wasn’t the first or the last Slytherin to align with the Order — Kane, Diyoza and Murphy proved that.

She pulled Clarke in for another bone crushing hug. “After this is over, we’ll catch up. We have so much to talk about.” When she pulled back, she was grinning mischievously. “Like you and Bellamy?”

“I see word travels fast.” Clarke shouldn’t have been surprised. They were in Hogwarts, a place where gossip travelled so fast that it was like the walls themselves spread it.

“I got it out of him when he wouldn’t stop asking me about you.” Harper grinned. “It’s sweet. You both were sweet to each other when you got along. I guess you get along more now than you did at Kane’s?”

“You could say that.”

Harper glanced towards the Great Hall a final time. Instead of immediately glancing back, her face lit up and she waved. Clarke turned and—

Monty.

The other Hufflepuff was leading a line of _very_ young Hufflepuff students out of the Great Hall. Clarke let out a laugh and waved at him. When he spotted her, his eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe.

“Clarke!?”

“I have a feeling we’re going to be getting a lot of that today,” Murphy commented dryly.

“Hi, Monty.”

“Wow.” He blinked at her. The students shuffled behind him nervously. “Bellamy’s going to be happy to see you.”

“That’s what I said.” Harper took a few steps back from Clarke, her smile falling. “We gotta go. The kids need to be out before—”

“Yeah. Go. Seriously.” Clarke tried to ignore all the thoughts that rushed through her mind in that moment, especially the ones that told her she’d never see them again. “I’m glad we saw you.”

“If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re here,” Harper promised her. Monty and the Hufflepuff students began to make their journey towards the changing staircases. “Raven, too.” She pointed towards the Great Hall. “Start there. That’s where all the kids are that Bellamy is helping extract. It’s your best odds at bumping him.”

Before they disappeared, Clarke called out to them one final time. “Be safe! Both of you!”

And then they were gone.

_Why did it feel like that was goodbye?_

They didn’t have time to dwell on it. As soon as the Hufflepuffs disappeared, the castle shook with enough force to rattle Clarke’s bones. A loud boom echoed eerily through the nearly empty halls of Hogwarts.

“We have to move quickly.”

They both knew what that sound was. It was the sound of a quickly approaching battle.

As they rushed towards the Great Hall, they passed several more groups of students being led by ghosts and Prefects, each group moving with more panic and speed than moments ago. They stepped to the side to let a group of young Ravenclaws move past.

It was here, pressed against the wall, that Murphy let out a disbelieved laugh.

“What?”

He didn’t look impressed when he turned to her. “No green.”

“What?”

“There’s no green robes.” 

Clarke remained confused for a second more before she glanced up, taking in the rush of students around her.

He was right.

The students that rushed towards the seventh floor wore red robes, blue robes and yellow robes — they were Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

_There wasn’t a single green robe in the crowd._

“No Slytherins.”

He looked bitter. “I wonder why that is?” She had a pretty good guess, but didn’t want to speak it out loud. “I’m not getting a good feeling from this.”

She blew out a long breath and set her shoulders. “We stick to the plan. We find McGonagall. We find Raven and Bellamy. We stand and fight. There’s nothing else we can do.”

The lack of green representation in the halls worried her more than she wanted to say. Where were the Slytherin Prefects? Why weren’t they helping lead the younger students out of the castle like the other Prefects? Even the younger Slytherins appeared to be missing.

She didn’t think it was a coincidence.

The groups of students they passed in the hallway must’ve been the final few groups to leave the castle. The Great Hall was nearly empty of all students when they entered. It looked unnatural. She was so used to seeing the hall filled with hundreds of students, all laughing and eating and _joyful._

The hall they stood in now was a far cry from the hall she knew from her days as a Hogwarts student.

Along the far back wall, where the head tables used to sit, Madam Pomfrey busied herself by setting up what looked like a triage station. Dozens of stretchers rested on the floor. Even more white cloth was stacked on the table.

Clarke looked away.

She scanned the remainder of the hall, her heart pounding and chest tight with disheartenment. Her gaze skipped from head to head, knowing she’d easily recognize the simple curl of Bellamy’s hair or the slope of his shoulders.

He wasn’t there.

“Do you see Raven?”

“No. Fuck. She’s not here.”

“Neither is Bellamy.” Clarke placed her hand carefully on Murphy’s forearm — seeking as much comfort in the touch as she gave. “It’s okay. We’ll find them.”

Slower now, she looked around the room, looking for her old professor. Her eyes settled on the only group in the hall; half a dozen witches and wizards stood around the end of the Gryffindor table, all of them studying a map plastered to the wood.

_Well, almost all of them._

Clarke locked eyes with a wizard in her year — a Gryffindor. Despite his face sporting more bruises and gashes than it did last June, she recognized him easily.

Neville Longbottom.

In fact, she recognized the rest of the table, too; Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.

“Murphy. Griffin.” Finnigan straightened as he addressed them, his expression turning dark quickly. The others at the table all paused their hushed conversation and looked up, their eyes coming to rest on them.

Murphy snorted and leaned in to whisper to her. “Damn. We’re in the presence of royalty. Should we bow?”

Clarke didn’t get a chance to laugh at his joke. Finnigan was moving towards them, his eyes wild and wand drawn. All humour disappeared from between her and Murphy as they took in the sight of a _very angry_ Gryffindor approaching them.

“Woah.” Murphy said, lifting his palms as if he was steadying an animal. “I know we’re not best buds here, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t try to scare the shit out of me.”

“What are you two doing here?!” Finnigan snapped, his wand lifting to point in their direction. Clarke stepped forward in challenge, but kept her wand pointed at the ground.

“Same reason as you are,” Clarke answered easily. 

Her eyes darted beyond Finnigan’s shoulder, taking in the remaining Gryffindors and Ravenclaw. They all looked as uneasy as Finnigan was. Some of them gripped their wands at their sides. Others pointed them in their direction. Clarke’s stomach dropped.

_Fuck._

“You’re Slytherins,” Finnigan hissed, coming to a stop a foot away from her. She fought the temptation to reach forward and tug it from his grasp, just to teach him the lesson of not pointing it at her face. “How’d you get here?”

“We swam,” Murphy answered dryly. “How do you think we got here, Finnigan?”

“Fuck off,” he spat. “You think you’re clever for sneaking away from the rest? Come to finish Harry off before the fight even begins, are you?”

“We’re looking for McGonagall,” Clarke answered before Murphy could. She chanced a glare in Murphy’s direction, hoping he understood that she was telling him to chill the fuck out before they got stunned by the people they were here to fight beside. “That’s all. We didn’t even know Potter was in the Great Hall. If you let us know where McGonagall is, we’ll be on our way.”

Finnigan let out a dry bark of laughter. “Liar. Should’ve expected as much from the likes of _you.”_

Clarke’s fingers flexed on her wand. She was not in the mood to deal with this.

“Listen, Finnigan, we’re here to fight _for_ the Order.” She tried to hide her bitter expression. “We’re here to fight _for_ Potter — not against him. Alright?”

“No, you aren’t. I bet your precious Dark Lord sent you to come kill him and the rest of us.” His eyes fell to the wand in her hand. “Would explain your wand being drawn.”

She glared. “That’s not fair. _You_ are the one who has their wand pointing at _me.”_ The castle shook again. Clarke clenched her teeth. “We don’t have time to play games and mess around. We’re here to fight _against_ Voldemort.”

The Weasley in her year — Ron — stepped forward, his own wand drawn and a snarl on his face. “The taboo! You just used _his_ name and now the wards are—”

“The wards are already falling!” she snapped. “Can’t you feel it? We’re running out of time.” She took a step towards Finnigan and pushed his wand out of her face. “Get that thing out of my fucking face and let’s have a conversation like adults.”

“I’ll listen to you when hell freezes over, Griffin.”

“We deserve a chance to fight,” she snapped. She was seconds away from losing her temper over the injustice of it all. “We’re on your side and we’re here to help.”

“How’d you know where we were then?” Finnigan pressed, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. He looked like he was as close to snapping as she was. “How’d you find us?”

“Potterwatch broadcasted your location, dipshit,” Murphy said, stepping forward. He shoved him roughly in the shoulder, making him stumble backwards. 

Several more wands from the Gryffindor table lifted to point in their direction.

Clarke was too far gone to think rationally. She stepped forward and pointed her wand towards Ginny Weasley. Both her and Granger had stepped in front of Potter, acting as a human shield.

Clarke saw red. Why couldn’t they understand they were here to help? Why was it so hard to see they weren’t dangerous!?

“Clearly,” Granger said, her voice clipped, “we can’t trust either of you.”

Murphy’s laugh was dry. “That’s rich coming from you, Granger. Where’s your equality bullshit now? Or — wait — does that just apply in situations _you_ want it to? Slytherins aren’t on your list of those deserving a chance?”

“Don’t talk to her,” Weasley snapped, stepping into Murphy’s space. Things were quickly spiralling out of control. “You talk to her again, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“I know I’m no expert here, but I think Granger can speak for herself,” Murphy countered. “Besides, from what I hear, _she_ should be the one protecting _you._ You can’t even hold your own wand correctly. ‘Eat slugs’ ring any bells?”

“If we wanted proof, there it is,” Longbottom said, stepping forward. “You’ve always been a dick, Murphy.”

“And you’ve always been— _woah._ Hold on a second. Did you just say dick? Gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you, Longbottom.” 

Longbottom’s hand tightened on his wand.

“Murphy,” Clarke snapped. They were one poor comment away from getting murdered. “Enough.”

His jaw tightened. The room grew quiet. There was enough electricity to power Piccadilly Circus. 

“Listen,” Murphy said slowly, his voice less hostile than before. “We deserve a chance, don’t we? The colours on our robes don’t mean anything, contrary to popular belief. It’s a wild concept, I know, but apparently you can still be an evil little rat in the Gryffindor house — just as you can be, you know, a decent human being in Slytherin house. Or, well, I don’t know if I’d go that far to compliment myself, but at least I’m not a monster.”

“Aren’t you?”

Murphy locked his jaw. “I know I’ve been a shitty person in the past.”

“You still are one, dick.”

“Fine, I know I’m a shitty person, but at least I’m not a Death Eater.”

The female Weasley laughed. “Ha! You have low standards.”

“Don’t listen to him, Gin,” Ron Weasley said hotly. “Slytherins are known to lie. They’re monsters. Manipulators. They’re all evil.” His eyes flicked between the two of them, his lip curling in disgust. “They’re all Death Eaters.”

 _That_ must’ve been the breaking point for Murphy. He growled and ripped up the sleeve of his shirt, showcasing his bare arm. “I’m getting pretty fucking sick of having to show my skin all the time, guys. Maybe I should start wearing short sleeves. It’ll save me a lot of work.” He waved his bare forearms for them to see. “No tattoo. Right? Can we all see? Do we need a show and tell? Pass around my arm for you to examine? Or are we good here?”

Granger stepped forward, her jaw locked with determination. Weasley shifted, ready to jump and protect her at any second. Clarke forced herself to _not_ roll her eyes.

“What are you wearing?” Granger pressed, studying Murphy’s clothing.

“It’s called denim. It’s a bitch to wear, but they say beauty hurts, don’t they?”

She turned to the group. “That’s _Muggle_ clothing.”

Finnigan pulled a face. “It’s ugly.”

“It’s Muggle.” She turned back to the both of them. “They’re both pureblood.”

“Glad to know I’m important enough that you keep tabs on the purity of my blood,” Murphy muttered. Clarke wanted to silence him with a hex. He was goading them into a fight.

Granger’s shoulders tensed, but her voice held steady. “Do you honestly think _Death Eaters_ would wear Muggle clothing? They wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that.”

Ron Weasley laughed. “Right, ‘Mione, because they were just going to show up in their black cloaks and silver masks. _They’re liars._ Of course they’re going to dress the part they’re playing! They’re trying to trick you and, hell, it looks like it is working!”

Clarke had enough.

“We don’t have time,” she repeated. “Bellamy Blake and Raven Reyes will vouch for us. Hell, even ask Octavia Blake, or Harper McIntyre, or Monty Green because they’ll—”

“You can name drop all you want, but you’re not getting out of this,” Finnigan warned. “I say we lock them up with the others.

Clarke nearly punched him in the jaw. “With the _others!?_ What the _fuck_ does that mean!?”

Murphy laughed hysterically — his laughs were so forceful that he bent over in the middle and clutched his sides. The Gryffindors in the room stared at him like he was sprouting a third eye.

“Oh! That’s hysterical!” He straightened and turned to Clarke. “That’s why there’s no Slytherins in sight. They have them all fucking locked up!”

She truly saw red. Her nails drew blood from the palm of her hand. The floor tipped underneath her.

Fury was an understatement.

“You _what!?”_ she cried. “You locked up _a whole fucking house_ just because you don’t _like them!?_ You’re sentencing them to death just because—”

“We aren’t sentencing them to death,” Granger snapped primly.

Finnigan laughed. “But if they do die, it wouldn’t be a loss.”

Once again, Clarke held herself back from punching him in the face.

Murphy wasn’t as resistant as she was.

His fist connected with Finnigan’s nose with a sick crunch. The Gryffindor flew backwards, his hands pressed to his nose and curses spewing from his lips. Murphy clutched his hand to his chest but before he could say _anything,_ three streams of red light hit him. He collapsed to the floor.

“Hey!” Clarke yelled, stepping forward, fire burning in her eyes. Her wand pointed towards the closest of the group, which now happened to be Ron Weasley. Granger stepped forward, her wand pointed at her. “This is great. Fantastic! ‘Come to our side,’ you say; ‘do the right thing,’ you say. ‘Oh, wait! Not you, Slytherin. You all deserve to die.’” She scoffed. “This is _bullshit!”_

“Shut up or you’ll be forced to shut up,” Finnigan snapped between bloody fingers.

“Find McGonagall or Diyoza — they’re both Order members that can vouch for us.”

Longbottom raised his eyebrows coolly. “McGonagall was the one to authorize all Slytherins getting locked up. Guess you should’ve chosen a better alibi, huh?”

A chill washed over Clarke, reminding her of the bony hands of the Dementor.

_McGonagall locked up the Slytherins._

The sting of betrayal was sharp. It made Clarke want to break something.

Maybe Murphy was onto something. Maybe breaking bones with her bare fist was worth being stunned.

“Slytherins aren’t your enemy,” she hissed instead. Her fingers twitched on her wand. A stunner was on the tip of her tongue, but she desperately listened to her own words. No matter what it might’ve seemed like in this moment, these people were not her enemy. “Death Eaters are our enemy.” Desperate now, she turned to Granger. “‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ You know this. You’re smart enough to see it. Even if you don’t trust us, you _need_ us. We’re more wands. We’re— we’re more hands willing to help. We—”

“—are untrustworthy,” she finished sharply. Her lip curled. “You know, your mother was there when they tortured me. Bellatrix _tortured me_ and she just _watched._ In fact, she offered to go get _you_ to help identify us for the Dark Lord.” Clarke felt sick. The floor was ripped out from under her. “That was barely a month ago! You’re one of them, Griffin. You’ve always been one of them.”

“My mother is my enemy too,” she said, her voice turning more desperate. “I betrayed her and this is her revenge. She— She uses Polyjuice Potion to pretend and be me. She has created this bullshit version of reality where _I’m one of them,_ but it isn’t further from the truth!” The castle shook again, this time more violently than before. “We’re the Phoenixes!” Clarke insisted. “Murphy and I. We’ve gone around Diagon and Knockturn Alley, trying to screw with the Death Eaters, trying to put on a show and give people hope and— and we’ve been feeding information to the Order over the last few months!” Her gaze shifted to Luna. “McGonagall asked me where you would be kept if you were kidnapped. I told her either Malfoy Manor or Griffin Manor. Did they rescue you? Did the Order rescue you? If so, you know—”

 _“We_ rescued her,” Weasley snapped. “And it had nothing to do with information you claim to have given. If you gave any information at all, she wouldn’t have been there to rescue!”

“I told McGonagall where Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood were being kept! I told her and—”

The castle shook so violently that Granger stumbled back into Weasley and Clarke fell to her knees. The sound of what felt like shattering glass echoed around the Great Hall. In the distance, there was an echo of a large explosion.

Clarke’s breathing turned shallow. Her eyes were wide.

The wards.

The wards had fallen.

She turned back to Granger, knowing she would be her best bet. “Please, Hermione. _Trust me._ Let us—”

She was hit with a stunner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE the character I kinda portrayed as bad people at the end of this chapter? If you're a Neville, Seamus, Luna, Ginny, Ron, Hermione or Harry stan - i feel u. I love them too. BUT I'm sticking as close to canon as possible (by blending the movie and book versions of this battle). They all stood by as the W H O L E Slytherin house was thrown in the dungeons by McGonagall. 
> 
> also. this chapter ~~fic~~ might be a middle finger to a _certain someone_ and their certain way of portraying Slytherins in the Battle of Hogwarts. am I still salty after 13 years that apparently NO Slytherins stuck around for the battle? yeah. oops.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)
> 
> .
> 
> also, thank you to the lovely iwearplaids on tumblr for creating [this](https://iwearplaids.tumblr.com/post/615940729987022848/inspired-by-pawprinterfanfic-s-paint-me-in) beautiful moodboard for Paint me in Trust!!


	40. Chapter 39: Snakes and Ladders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: verbal abuse, character death, gore
> 
> may the force be with you while you read this chapter

**_CLARKE_ **

_May 2, 1998_

“My father—”

“Your father is a dick.”

“You’re not wrong, but at least he has a sense of loyalty and morals!” A beat, then, “he’ll come for us. I know it.”

“Your father can barely stomach his own reflection in the mirror, Nott. You really think he’s going to be _here,_ fighting?”

“More likely than your family!”

Arguing continued in the distance as Clarke came to. Her mind was as fuzzy as the voices, everything feeling as though she was underwater. Her limbs felt detached from her torso, yet she could still feel them. It was as though she was fractured into pieces, only held together by bits of tape.

“Quiet. She’s waking.”

Clarke’s fingers flexed, searching for the warmth of her wand. She knew it had been in her palm. The last thing she remembered, it had been in her palm anyways.

_The last thing she remembered._

She pressed her _alarmingly_ empty palm to her forehead, hoping it would stop the throbbing behind her eyes. The longer she was awake, the more clarity she got.

The room had grown quiet. It was cold and damp — she could feel the chill metastasizing into her bones, curling around every inch of her body. She could smell the must and mould in the air. She could taste the humidity on her tongue.

The last thing she remembered was a red light shooting in her direction.

_A stunner._

She had been stunned.

The memories came easier after that, and the emotions quickly followed. _Final battle. Bellamy and Octavia in Hogsmeade. Dementors’ rattling breaths against her face. Hogwarts shuddering. Murphy at her side. Searching for McGonagall. Harper and Monty in the hallways. Gryffindors in her face._

One of the bloody Gryffindors stunned her!

She pulled her eyes open.

“There she is,” a sickly sweet voice purred. Clarke’s gaze darted around the room — _the cell?_ — to find the speaker. A woman in green Slytherin robes was propped up against the wall directly across from her. She couldn’t see any details through the darkness. “Let’s have a round of applause for the Slytherin Princess!”

A round of sarcastic applause rang up from more than just the woman’s hands. It echoed eerily in the dark space, making it nearly impossible to tell where it was coming from.

Clarke bolted upright, ignoring the way her head spun as she moved too quickly. Her gaze darted around the small concrete room she was in. With a sinking stomach, she realized she was right.

It was a cell.

The walls and floor were made out of black rock, which seemingly swallowed any light that would’ve bled in through the small grate on the door to Clake’s left. The stone was slick with water under her hands. The feeling of slime was familiar. The _smell_ of moulding water was familiar.

The dungeons.

She was in the dungeons.

Clarke remained as still as possible as that fact sunk in. 

_She was in the dungeons of Hogwarts._

“Fucking hell,” she breathed. Her head throbbed with the effort. The Gryffindors had really done it this time. Suddenly, it made sense why Clarke was waking up in a cell in the dungeons; they’d locked up the whole Slytherin house from the sounds of it. “Fuck!”

“Pretty language,” the voice chirped. 

Clarke’s eyes were adjusting to the dim lighting and she could make out more features of her face. She was all blonde hair, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and sparkling eyes. It only took Clarke a moment longer to recognize her as Josephine Lightbourne — a girl in her year and house.

“Josephine!?”

The girl lifted her eyebrows quickly. “The one and only.”

Before she could begin to ask more questions, another familiar voice rang out — this one from one of the other cells in the dungeons. “He’s waking!” A beat then, “rise and shine, beauty.”

“Fuck off, Nott.”

Clarke sucked in a quick breath and jumped to her feet, flying towards the door of the cell before the world steadied around her. The bars covering the small grate were cold and rusted under her tight grasp. Her heart thudded in her chest.

“Murphy!? Murphy are you alright?”

A beat, then, “I’m going to kill those bloody Gryffindors.” 

She pressed her face against the grate and peered into the corridor. There was a single torch lit in the arched entrance, casting a faint light over the dungeon. She could see three cells opposite to hers, which led her to believe she was in the middle of two other cells. Six cells total?

A moment passed before she saw movement in the grate directly opposite of hers. Murphy pressed his face against his own cell, peering out towards her. He sported a blooming bruise on his cheekbone, one which Clarke assumed came from his rough fall after he was stunned. She could see the fire in his eyes and see the anger in the way he set his jaw.

“They fucking locked us up!” he snapped.

“They locked all of us up.” Clarke jolted back and instinctively reached for her wand pocket as Josephine snuck up behind her. Her former roommate watched her scramble for her wand, clearly amused by the situation. “You won’t find it. They took it. They took all of our wands when they locked us here.”

Clarke’s heart was racing. Dread seeped into her veins. She fought to keep her voice even and to remain logical. Now was not the time to panic.

“We?” she pressed. She swallowed thickly. “How many of us are down here?”

While her question wasn’t answered immediately, she gained more information. Someone slammed their body weight against their cell door, causing an echoing bang to interrupt her.

“There is no, _we._ Fucking blood traitor.”

Ah, yes. She recognized that voice, unfortunately. Dax was a wizard in her year and the stereotypical Slytherin; he didn’t like to use his brain, choosing instead to mindlessly follow the orders and expectations of others. He was exactly the type of person that she expected to fight against during this battle; not become prison buddies with.

A deep boom sounded from somewhere above them. _The battle._ They were too far underground to hear the snap of spells or the screams of death, but the explosion above them seemed to shake her to her core.

As Clarke gaped at the ceiling, Josephine pursed her lips and strolled away, leaving her alone near the door. 

_They needed to get out of here._ By whatever means necessary, her and Murphy needed to get out _now._ They needed to help fight this battle. They needed to find Bellamy and Raven.

_Bellamy._

She pushed the thoughts of him from her mind before they could even form. _No time, no time, no time._

She grit her teeth and turned back to the corridor, straining her eyes to catch glimpses of anyone else. “Hello?” Clarke pressed, her voice growing more tense. “How many of us are down here?”

When nobody answered, she let out a huff. Fine, they wanted to play difficult? Whatever. She had grown up with these people, she knew how to act around them to get what she wanted. She wasn’t here to make friends.

“So, what am I?” she pressed, her voice taunting. “Am I the Slytherin Princess or a fucking blood traitor? I’m sensing these are mutually exclusive titles. Although, I don’t see the logic behind that. I’m _proudly_ Slytherin and I also very _proudly_ hang with Muggleborns and half-bloods. You know, Blood Traitorous Princess has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“You _bitch,”_ another voice snarled. Her face pressed against the bars of her cell, her teeth bared in a snarl, her eyes flashing dangerously. She looked like a vicious animal. “I will pluck your eyeballs from your skull, traitor.”

Clarke smirked. “There she is. Hi, Ontari.”

“Fuck off.”

Murphy’s face appeared at the grate again. He flagged her attention. “I’ve got Nott in here.”

“Josephine’s with me.” Clarke did a quick count up. “Six of us? There’s only six?”

In the cell beside Murphy’s another face appeared. It took Clarke a long moment to recognize it, as it was longer and thinner than it was the last time they saw each other. It was Sterling, another Slytherin in her year. “Greengrass and I are here, too. Monroe is with Pansy.”

“Quiet!” Dax demanded, slamming against his cell door again. Sterling didn’t flinch. “She deserves to know nothing. Are you fucking stupid, Sterling? A fucking blood traitor, too?”

The dungeon broke into a screaming match quickly after this.

Clarke closed her eyes and pressed her ear against the grate, trying her best to decipher the voices. From the people named so far, they were all people in her year at Hogwarts and all Slytherins. There were fifteen Slytherins in her year, ten of which were already accounted for. In the chaos, she picked out one more voice — Blaise Zabini. He brought the total up to eleven.

She knew Millicent, a witch in her year, was more than likely not in the dungeons with them. After all, they ran into each other only a few days ago in Knockturn Alley. It looked as though her parents had withdrawn her from Hogwarts and allowed her to join the Death Eaters.

If she had to guess, that was where Malfoy was as well, the asshole. He was always so eager to please his father when they were kids.

“Enough!” Pansy snapped. Her voice came from somewhere on her left. “I’m getting a fucking headache from all your screaming!” Her cell door rattled. Clarke imagined her slamming the palm of her hand against it. “If I had my wand, I’d _happily_ stun you all.”

“If I had my wand, you’d be fucking dead, Parkinson.” Ontari’s eyes snapped towards Clarke’s in the dark. “You too, Griffin.”

“She wouldn’t just be _dead,”_ Dax sneered. “A blood traitor like her deserves to suffer.”

Ontari’s eyes lit up with glee. “Oh, yes, we’d make a game out of it. First one to make her beg for mercy wins.” She grinned. “Like that, Griffin? Wanna play with us?”

It was concerning, just how calm and unfeeling Clarke was in that moment. The words rolled off of her without a second thought. 

Maybe it was because this was exactly what she was expecting from this night — facing down her old peers, trading insults, being threatened for not trying to eradicate the world of people who weren’t born to two magical beings. 

Maybe it was because she was so distracted by the odd sound of the battle — too preoccupied by the thought of all her _friends_ several floors above her, fighting for their lives.

Maybe it was because she couldn’t stop thinking of ways to get out and get to Bellamy.

It was Murphy who responded to Ontari’s threats. “Leave her the hell alone,” he growled, his face plastered against the metal grate. “I don’t need a wand to murder you, Ontari. You touch her, I’ll strangle you with my bare hands. That’s a promise.”

“Oh. I forgot you were here.” She sounded bored. “What can I say — you’re easily forgotten, John.”

“Bitch.”

“Traitor.”

“You know, you lot really need to pull your collective brain cells together and think of a better insult,” he taunted. “I’m getting really sick of being called a traitor. Be more creative! Hit me where it hurts!”

Despite the rising tensions in the cells, Clarke let out a laugh at that. It was true. She was called a traitor so often that it didn’t make her blink anymore.

“Besides,” she added, “I have no problems with being a blood traitor if it means I’m not killing innocent people.”

“Right,” Pansy drawled. “You’re just killing your _family._ Your _friends._ People who care about you and supported you and _gave you everything.”_ She sniffed. “Have you thought about your poor mother!? She’s distraught without you.”

This was the girl that Clarke used to consider a friend.

Maybe these words would’ve hurt Clarke before, but not now; not when she knew her family and friends were out there right now, fighting for the Order; not when people who cared about her, who supported her, who gave her everything were risking their lives to fight for what was right.

“You don’t deserve a mother like yours,” Ontari sneered. “She’s done _everything_ for you and you throw it in her face! You spit in the faces of your ancestors and everything they stood for.”

“And I do so _happily,”_ she said. “If you love my mom so much, please, go ahead and act like the daughter she dreams of. I’m sure she’d love you and the way you tear out eyeballs. That’s a skill to be proud of — really!” Ignoring the way Ontari lashed out, she turned towards Sterling’s cell. He seemed to be the only one willing to divulge any information. “Sterling!”

A moment later and his face was against his grate again. “Hm?”

“Can you please tell me what the hell happened?” she pressed. His jaw tightened and eyes narrowed. Maybe he wasn’t as willing as she hoped. “Please? At least tell me why you’re all locked up down here?”

There was an explosion above them that seemed to rattle the stones she stood on. Dust was thrown into the air. She pressed her sleeve to her mouth.

“The Dark Lord gave us until midnight,” Monroe offered, speaking from somewhere Clarke couldn’t see. “He spoke to the Hogwarts students, said that this night will turn to bloodshed if we didn’t hand over Potter.”

That still didn’t answer her burning questions. “But how did you end up here? Was it McGonagall?” It was Josephine who answered. Her laugh was abrupt and short, almost making Clarke believe she was actually amused by the whole situation. Clarke whipped around to glare at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, lifting her hands in surrender. “Can’t I laugh?”

“No.” Clarke pulled away from the grate and glared at her fellow Slytherin. “Josephine, just tell me.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Fine, we’ll make a deal. I answer your question, you answer mine.”

“Shut up, Lightbourne!” Ontari threatened. Her threats morphed from being about Clarke to being about Josephine. 

She didn’t like that.

She pushed Clarke out of the way and pressed her face to the metal grate. “You think you’re crazy, bitch!? _I’m crazier._ My father—”

“Oh, right, precious daddy.” Ontari sneered. “You know what, Josie, you’re right. _Daddy’s_ going to come rescue you, isn’t he? You know, your father’s always been _daddy_ to me. I’d happily climb to my knees and—”

Josephine feigned puking before turning to Clarke, her nose wrinkled. “Ew.” More dust rained down as another explosion rang out. Neither of the girls flinched. “So, we have a deal, princess?”

Desperate for information, she gave a firm nod. “Fine. What happened?”

“Your precious lion was the one to suggest we get locked up.” She twirled her hair and tried to hide her smile. “That is, the _professor._ Parkinson, the genius she is, tried to follow the Dark Lord’s instructions in the middle of the fucking Great Hall while everyone was watching.”

“He was right there!” Pansy shrieked. “I could’ve grabbed him and this whole war would’ve—”

“Shut up.” Josephine rolled her eyes. “Pansy threatened to grab Potter. I’m sure you can already predict how everyone and their fucking owl reacted to that. McGonagall decided to send the underage Slytherins out of the castle with the rest of the students, while she locked us up down here.” 

There wasn’t any way that both Josephine and the Gryffindors were lying to her. Clarke tried to ignore the sting that emanated from her chest at this. She felt betrayed by the professor. She had been one of the very few Clarke considered to be an ally and trustworthy, yet — here she was — locking up Slytherins.

She swallowed thickly. “And Slughorn? He’s still head of house?”

“Tsk, tsk,” she chided. “I thought we had an understanding. You ask a question, I ask a question. It’s my turn.”

“What are we — twelve!?” Murphy snapped.

Josephine ignored him. “It’s _my_ turn, Griffin.” Clarke nodded again. “Where have you been the last few months?”

“Away.” 

Josephine’s lip curled. “Not good enough.”

Clarke blew out a long breath. She was so tired of playing these mind games. A war was raging above them — a war that Bellamy was in the heart of — and she was stuck bickering with her old housemates.

She needed to get out of the dungeons and needed to get involved with the battle. To do that, she needed more information.

Clarke was going to have to play Josie’s game.

“Fine,” Clarke snapped. “I was hiding. Is that what you wanted to hear? I got scared, I didn’t want to be involved with the war, and I ran away from my mother. Happy?”

Josephine tipped her head to the side and studied her with a sharp gaze. “You know, I can always tell when someone is lying, Clarke. Their eyes dart, their heart races, they grow agitated. You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” She wasn’t exactly telling the truth, but that wasn’t the same. “I was in Muggle London for a while, trying to lay low.”

Her nose wrinkled. “That would explain the hideous thing you’re wearing.”

“You’re sick,” Ontari hissed. “You’re fucking _sick,_ Griffin.”

Clarke peered out of the grate, locking eyes with her from across the corridor. “I’ll _get_ sick if you keep talking to me. Can you shut up for once?”

“Never thought I’d say this, but I agree with Griffin,” Pansy snapped. “Shut up, Ontari.”

Surprisingly, the vicious witch fell silent.

Clarke turned back to Josephine, who wore a judgemental expression. “Okaaaaay then. Muggle London. Cowardice. Gotcha. Any particular reason you went there?”

“It’s my turn to ask the question,” she reminded her. She took a second to try and think of the best question to ask to get the most information. “Why weren’t we all evacuated with the others? What’s the point of locking us up?”

“They think we’re going to run to our parents,” a different voice answered. Clarke recognized it as Monroe again. “Fat chance there. My parents are dead.”

“So, what?” Murphy prompted. “They thought ‘hey, the children in green have horrible parents, let’s lock them up?’”

“My parents aren’t horrible,” Nott replied, his voice harsh, “and yours aren’t either.”

“Well, actually, I wouldn’t know. That’s the thing about having a dead mother. I don’t know if she would be horrible or not. My _father_ though… grade A asshole. Lovely man, if you like getting tortured every other day.”

Josephine glared at her cell door. “Stop eavesdropping! Griffin and I are having a _private_ conversation!”

“What is it that you used to love to say?” Murphy jested. “‘Sharing is caring?’ Yeah, that’s it. Speak a little louder. Nott’s breathing so loud that I can’t fucking hear myself think.”

“Now, now,” Josephine purred, turning back to Clarke, “where were we?”

“Why did the of age students get locked up?”

“Ah, right. It’s simple, really, and like Zoe said; they think we’re all going to run back to our parents and help their side in the battle. They’d rather have us locked up down here where we can’t fight at all than risk us adding more wands to their side.”

A cell door slammed. Dax, again. “Motherfuckers! My father is counting on me, we need to—”

“And _that’s_ where they got the impression that we’re all happily running back to mommy and daddy,” Josephine replied with the roll of her eyes.

“Oh, shut it, Lightbourne. Like you _weren’t_ planning on going back to your daddy once we got out of this hell-hole.”

“Unlike you, Pansy, my father doesn’t take unnecessary risks and actually _cares_ about me. He’s nowhere near the castle now, and I shouldn’t be either.” Her expression remained unphased as she turned back to Clarke. “My turn to ask the question. Is what they say true? Are you a blood traitor?”

“Who says that?” she pressed.

“Everyone. Answer the question.”

Clarke had no hesitation in her answer. “Yes. I’m a blood traitor. I’m on Potter’s side of the war. I will _always_ be on his side.”

“They locked us up to die,” Monroe pointed out, her voice heated. Clarke didn’t need to see her expression to know her lips were pulled back in anger. “They locked you down here with the rest of us. They don’t trust you.”

The thing about that was it was true. It was true, and she hated it. She hated the way it made her chest crumple. She hated the way it made her feel like she was back in the forest with the Dementors, her soul being ripped from her bones and all her fears and doubts being brushed to the surface.

Josephine nodded her head sharply. “While I might not understand why you would want to follow that filth in the first place—”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” she snapped.

“Why are you still defending them? You’re not special to them, Griffin. They don’t care about you. They don’t trust you. They don’t _want_ you. They see green on your robes and they assume everything about you.”

Her throat grew tight — from anger, from the injustice of it, from the pure emotion burning her heart.

“Not all of them,” she said, her voice cracking despite trying to remain strong. “Not all of them are like that. If… If the right people were there, they would’ve stood up for us, they would’ve vouched for us. Some of them believe that Slytherins can be good.”

Josephine smirked. “‘Some of them,’” she quoted. “Why give your life for _some_ of them when the _majority_ of them hate your guts? It’s illogical, Griffin.”

“Not everything has to be logical,” she replied. “I don’t do this because I want to be accepted, and I sure as hell didn’t choose to be a blood traitor because I thought it would gain me friends. I _choose_ their side because it’s the right one. Let me ask you this; why give your life for _his_ side of the war? Why fight for someone who wants to _hurt_ people — people that are just like us?”

Ontari slammed against her cell door. She reminded Clarke more of a wild animal than human at that point, from the way she snarled to the way she screamed insults at her. “You disgust me! You filthy blood traitor!”

It was Pansy who spoke next. “I don’t even know who you _are_ anymore, Clarke.”

She set her jaw. “Clearly, you never knew me in the first place.” She locked eyes with Josephine, who looked as disgusted as Pansy sounded. “Muggleborns are no different than us, Josie. They aren’t.”

“They _are,”_ she hissed. Her hand moved towards his side pocket, where her wand usually sat. Her hand curled around air. “They’re a drain on magical resources. They’re polluting the population. We’re _pure._ They’re _tarnishing_ that. They’re _dirtying_ our blood.”

“Don’t,” Clarke hissed, her voice turning deadly cool. She could feel adrenaline rushing through her veins. Magic pulsed to her fingertips. She idly wondered if she’d even _need_ a wand to hex Josephine right now, she was so angry.

“You’re a disgrace to your family, a disgrace to this house, a disgrace to _all_ of us!” Pansy snapped. Ontari was snarling too, but her voice was filled with so much venom that Clarke couldn’t decipher a single word.

“This has nothing to do with houses,” she said. “We aren’t horrible people for being in Slytherin; we’re horrible people if we want to kill others based on blood purity! You’re a _monster_ if you think you’re better than others and want to wipe out a whole group of people because of it.”

She was slowly losing her cool. Her heart pounded in her chest from her raging emotions. The edges of her vision were tinged red from the pure anger she felt.

“I might have changed since I’ve been gone, but I’m not the one who should be ashamed of who I’ve become.” 

Clarke eyed Josephine coldly. Electricity ran down her spine and prickled her fingers. She ached to feel her wand in her hands, she ached to throw something — _anything —_ at the woman across from her.

Before the confrontation could come to a head, a loud boom echoed through the cells again. 

Clarke froze and her blood ran cold. 

This explosion was different from the other ones; it shook her chest more than it shook the floor. It wasn’t as massive as the previous ones either.

_Someone was coming._

The Slytherin house all realized this at the same time. Both Josephine and Clarke rushed towards the grate to peer into the corridor, their argument shelved for now. 

First, survive. Then, she could kick Josephine’s ass. 

Faces appeared in the three other cells across from Clarke, all staring in the direction the explosion came from.

“We’re screwed,” Pansy whispered. Clarke cringed; her voice was too loud for the silence that encased them.

“Shut up,” Monroe ordered.

They fell to silence once again. Her breath came out shallowly. Her chest ached from trying to hold her breath. Her body buzzed.

Just when Clarke was about to give up, she heard it. Voices were approaching — two males and one female, from what she could hear. As the seconds ticked by, they were getting closer and closer.

Clarke and Murphy made eye contact.

_She hoped it wasn’t for the final time._

Before the approaching intruders could enter the row of cells they were housed in, Josephine gripped Clarke’s forearm and pulled her to the ground. Her fingers were as cold as ice. Her teeth rattled in her head from how hard she hit the floor.

“Quiet,” she hissed before Clarke could cry out. Her eyes were wild. She knew Josephine well from the years they spent together; she knew this expression. _Don’t question me, or I will kill you,_ she seemed to say.

The echo of the footsteps drew nearer. They were rushing, she could tell by the drag of their feet on the ground. Nervous too — the stumbling gave that away.

Clarke held her breath and curled her hands into fists, ready for the worst.

_They were going to die._

Clarke was sure of it. _She was so fucking sure of it._

The only people who knew people were down here were the Order members who locked them up and nobody would be in the dungeons by accident.

Clarke thought back to earlier in the night, in the forest, where the Dementors hung over her. She had been convinced that she saw the future there — she had been convinced she wasn’t going to see the next sunrise.

_Maybe this was it._

Maybe this was a rogue and vengeful Order member coming to murder the Slytherins they captured. Maybe one of them was being pulled from their cell to be used as a hostage and a bargaining chip. Maybe they were tired of fighting and wanted to make the other side suffer.

The footsteps paused close — _too close._ For an agonizing second, they didn’t seem to move, and Clarke was sure they were all going to die, and—

“Pansy!? Pansy, are you here?”

 _Mr. Parkinson._ Clarke recognized his voice, even though she never heard him so passionate and frantic in her life. 

A weight lifted from her shoulders, as it did with the other Slytherins, she was sure.

_They weren’t going to die._

_Not yet._

“Daddy!” Pansy called. The rattling of a cell door rang out, and Clarke assumed she must've been pounding on it again. “Daddy, in here!”

“Ugh,” Dax spat. “You and ‘daddy.’ Salazar, this whole house has daddy issues.”

There was a rush of movement outside of Clarke’s cell. Now that she was sure they weren’t about to get murdered, she sprang up from the floor and peered out the grate.

Mr. Parkinson stood in a long black robe, his silver Death Eater mask and wand clutched in his hands. Two other masked Death Eaters stood beside him, looking unsure and hesitant. All three of their robes were covered in soot and debris — signs of the battle above.

Clarke knew what this was. _It was an opportunity._ She needed to get out of these cells and find her way to Bellamy. She needed to be with him — to stand with him — to protect him. 

No matter what, she was getting out of this cell.

Mr. Parkinson didn’t rush towards Pansy’s cell like she thought he would. Instead, he stood at the threshold of the doorway, his face contorted into a stone mask. He looked firm, and angry, and _exhausted._

“Our Dark Lord sends his best wishes,” he said triumphantly. Clarke’s stomach swooped with terror. “Your freedom and salvation has been granted by him as an act of his devotion to _you._ It is time for you to prove your worths and prove _your_ devotion to _him._ Make your families proud by showing your strength and ferocity in battle!”

“Finally!” Dax hissed, pounding on his cell door again. “Let me out!”

Clarke felt as though she was slowly spinning out of control. Her thoughts raced as she tried to think of a plan. She needed out of these cells, but then what? Could she fight all nine of her housemates and three Death Eaters to ensure her safety?

“Daddy!” Pansy pleaded. “Daddy, we don’t have our wands. The blood traitors took them when they locked us down here.”

“They’re in the next room over,” Nott offered.

Mr. Parkinson sent one of the Death Eaters to go find their wands and proceeded to unlock their cells. Pansy’s cell was the first to be unlocked. Just as Mr. Parkinson pointed his wand at the next cell — her and Josephine’s cell — Pansy’s hand shot out to grip his forearm.

“Not that one,” she said quickly. Clarke’s legs felt weak. _“Griffin_ is in that one.”

Mr. Parkinson’s expression morphed into one of shock. His eyebrows raised and his lips parted the slightest bit. Quickly, he lowered his wand and stepped back.

“While we’re in desperate need of valiant heroes, I have a suspicion you’re more trouble than it's worth,” he sneered, looking Clarke dead in the eye.

“Probably,” she replied coolly.

As Josephine pounded on the cell door, Clarke racked her brain. Her legs shook under her. Her heart was in her throat. This felt like it could be her only opportunity to escape, and it was slipping through her fingers.

_No, no, no, no._

She needed to think fast. Her first instinct was to charge out of her cell when it was unlocked for Josephine and punch Mr. Parkinson in the face. Her next instinct was to bargain with him, but she wouldn’t be caught dead begging a Death Eater for anything. Maybe she was petty, but she’d never give them that power over her.

Before she could come up with a plan, her cell door clicked open and Josephine slipped out. As she left, they locked eyes. She looked as amused as ever.

“Sucks to be you,” she taunted.

The cell door slammed shut.

Clarke was left with what felt like a hole in her stomach, consuming her from the inside out.

Things were happening too fast.

Just as the lock clicked closed again, she slammed into the cell door, a cry on her lips. “Hey!” she demanded. “Let me out!”

Instead of a civil reply like she was expecting, Ontari spat on her face. Clarke gasped and stumbled backwards, wiping the saliva from her eyes.

“Filthy bitch.”

Pansy glared at her through the bars. “The day you started slumming it with those filthy animals was the day you should’ve died.”

Clarke was so far gone that she didn’t even register just how painful those words were coming from the lips of someone she used to consider a friend.

 _All she saw was red._ Anger wormed its way inside her, propelling her forward, fueling her rage. She gripped the grate with her fingers and pressed her face as close as she could to the door.

“Fuck you,” she snarled. “Fuck you, Pansy!”

Pansy’s expression betrayed the hate she had so clearly tried to hide. She stepped closer to her cell, her eyes narrowed and her lips pinched together. Then, as if she was sharing a joke, she smiled.

“Like you fucked that Gryffindor?” she asked, her voice low. Clarke fought to maintain her anger — fought to keep down the horror she felt. “Oh, yeah, that’s right, Clarke. I know _all_ about your time away from home.”

Over her shoulder, the door to Murphy’s cell swung open. He took a step towards the corridor, but fell to his knees as a strong punch connected with his gut. He curled in on himself, gasping.

Clarke turned back to Pansy, feeling her control slipping. Her blood rushed through her veins alongside magic under her skin.

“You didn’t think you could keep it a secret, could you?” Pansy pressed. “You were right before — your mother is just _aching_ for a daughter. I’ll tell her that you say hello. Maybe she’ll like to visit you here.”

Clarke’s attention was drawn back to Murphy, who was hauled to his feet roughly by Parkinson. 

“As for your _plaything,_ he’ll get what’s coming for him soon enough. _He_ will be able to tell his mother hello soon, too. Look at that! You two _are_ meant for each other.”

Clarke pressed against the door, her eyes blazing. “Leave Bellamy alone, Pansy.” She smirked. Clarke’s breath came out laboured. “If you touch him, I will kill you.”

She pretended to pout. “And they told me you were a Gryffindor now,” she said. “That’s not very _chivalrous.”_

“I’m a Slytherin. I always will be. And I will _show you_ just how Slytherin I can be if you hurt him. You hear me? You touch Bellamy, you will regret it.”

“I’m a cockroach, alright!?” Murphy’s voice was finally loud enough for Clarke to hear. She maintained her glare on Pansy, but desperately tried to see what was happening to Murphy. “I did it for survival, fuck! Easy as that!”

“You came here to fight for them! You’re a filthy blood traitor!”

Murphy laughed — truly laughed. A different fear washed over Clarke — a feeling so strong that it managed to wash away all the rage she had directed towards Pansy. She glanced to where Murphy stood, still being restrained by Nott, but—

“Of course I was going to fucking say I was here to fight for Potter!” Murphy sneered. He shoved Nott’s hands off of him and straightened his denim overalls. “Salazar, are you dense? _I lied to get into the castle!”_

Clarke stared at him, a horror washing over her.

_What?_

“I am a _spy!”_ he shouted. 

The world stopped spinning abruptly.

“Shut the fuck up, Murphy, and get back in your cell,” Nott demanded. 

Murphy pushed him roughly and glared. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No! Nobody does!”

“It was an assignment from Professor Snape,” Murphy continued. “Think I’m lying? Let’s go ask Lucius Malfoy — he was there when I took an Unbreakable Vow for this shit.”

“Right. You’re a blood traitor and—”

Murphy punched Nott in the face. She heard the snap of bone. “Don’t call me that,” he snarled, topping off his injury by spitting onto Nott’s bleeding face. “Mudbloods and blood traitors deserve to die,” he snarled. Nott, still gasping, didn’t respond. Murphy turned to Parkinson. “Last year, Snape told me we needed more insider information, now that he was outed as a Death Eater. He chose _me._ I had the easiest story; shitty father, dead mother, good at Legilimency.” His eyes flicked to hers. Clarke felt like she was drowning when she didn’t recognize the man she was looking at. _“She_ even got inside my head and didn’t find out any of this. She thinks I’m one of _them_ — a blood traitor.”

Clarke numbly thought back to all practicing Occlumency with Murphy. His words echoed in her mind. _‘That’s how I’ll fight them; I’ll just overwhelm them with so much trauma until they say ‘let’s give the poor bastard a break’ and leave.’_

He did that with her. 

_He fucking did that with her._

Her heart fell to her stomach at that realization. Whenever they practiced Occlumency, she was hit with so much anguish and memories of trauma from Murphy that it was impossible to distinguish anything.

He did exactly as he said; he hid behind his dark memories.

He hid his true self from her behind his dark memories.

Clarke felt like she was suffocating.

“He’s lying,” Dax insisted. “He’s—” 

Parkinson lifted his hand, silencing him. He was staring intently at Murphy, clearly debating what to do. Murphy continued to speak.

“You want proof? Fine, I’ll give you proof.” He lifted his sleeve, showing his bare arm once again. “No tattoo, see? No markings for them to find! How do you think I proved myself around them? I showed them this and they all fucking fell for it.” His gaze was sharp on her. “Didn’t you, Griffin? You saw my bare arm and mindlessly trusted me.”

Clarke’s world was crashing down around her faster than Diyoza’s safe house. Brick by brick, she was slowly unravelling. She couldn’t breathe past the crushing weight of Murphy’s words.

“You want more proof? Fine. Griffin is a snitch.”

“Murphy!” she cried, fury breaking her shock. “I—” 

“She gave up information from the Dark Lord to Professor McGonagall,” he continued, blatantly ignoring her. “She has been working with the Order of the Phoenix — Potter’s army — for _months._ She tried to get me in on it too; funny though, because I fed _her_ wrong information.” His gaze settled on Clarke. “You see how that works, Griffin? You’re always one step too slow.”

Clarke’s knuckles were turning white from how tightly she was gripping the metal bars on her cell door. The room was spinning from the lack of oxygen reaching her lungs. 

She wanted to scream. She _needed_ to scream.

“You asked where she was for the last few months?” he asked Josephine. “I know _exactly_ what she’s been up to. She was at Marcus Kane’s safe house with Bellamy Blake, Raven Reyes, Harper McIntyre, and Monty Green. Then, she was at Charmaine Diyoza’s safe house with me, Reyes and Blake. She was _happy_ to tell them anything they wanted to know.”

Clarke stumbled back from the cell door as Dax slammed against it. The lock rattled. Her hands shook at her sides.

_Falling._

_She was falling._

“You motherfucker,” he yelled. “You dirty little—”

“She may be Potter’s pet, but I’m not. I’m loyal to the Dark Lord. I’m willing to serve the Dark Lord.” Murphy stepped towards Parkinson, begging. “You have to believe me, otherwise _everything_ I did was for nothing. I’ll— I’ll tell you anything! They trusted me. I know— I know secrets — secrets that can win us the war!” His voice lowered. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Mr. Parkinson? When I give my information to Snape, it will be _you_ who gets partial credit because you didn’t kill me.”

“The war’s almost over, boy,” he said gruffly. “Whatever information you have now isn’t worth anything.”

“No! No, it’s good info!” Murphy was growing desperate now. “Griffin was stupid enough to bring me to the Great Hall before the battle started. I saw maps and overheard plans. I know their strategies for this battle — strategies that we can use to our advantage and wipe them out for good!” He continued without pause. “Like the Great Hall — that’s where they’re going to be caring for the injured. If we hit them there—”

“Byrne and her team are already deployed to target the Great Hall,” Parkinson said quickly. He hesitated. “But… that _is_ relevant.”

Murphy clasped a hand on Parkinson’s shoulder, never breaking eye contact. “I am on our Dark Lord’s side. I’m a loyal servant of his.” He laughed. “How could I not be? His mission is in my best interests. I’m Pureblood and _proud._ I’m not like _her,”_ he sneered, staring at Clarke with so much disgust that it made her feel sick, “and I’m not one of those filthy Mudbloods. I don’t give a fuck about what happens to them! Why would I be with the Order — look at how they treated me! They stunned me and locked me up like a criminal when I’m trying to do a _service_ for the world. They’ve _always_ treated us Slytherins like shit. They deserve to be punished.” His face grew serious. “You _need_ me. I’m an asset because they _trust me._ Reyes — she trusts me the most. It’ll be _easy_ for me to use that to my advantage.”

“And what do you propose we do with Griffin?” Parkinson requested. “She deserves to die for her crimes.”

Murphy’s cool gaze swept to hers. She desperately tried to search for the man she knew — for the man that she loved as if he were family — but came back with nothing.

Something snapped in her with that realization.

_The man in front of her was not the man she grew to care about._

“Fuck you,” she snapped, her voice wavering. Tears were gathering in her eyes despite her not wanting to show weakness. She couldn’t _help_ it. Her body stung with betrayal. It felt as though her bones were being compressed by the weight of his turn. “Fuck you, Murphy.”

He smirked, seeking amusement in the way her face crumpled. “When we first met, I told you not to trust me. I tried to warn you.” She let a sob bubble out of her lips. Her legs shook under her. The only way she stayed standing was by sheer force of will. “You deserve this, Griffin. You deserve every horrible thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Parkinson didn’t flinch. “John, are you listening? What do you suggest we do with her?”

His eyes remained cold as she sobbed. “We break her. Death’s too easy. She’s done too much to get the easy way out. I know her — she trusted me like the idiot she is. She was _so_ desperate for a friend when we met that she forced herself to remain oblivious to everything.” Finally, he looked back to Parkinson. “I’m going to kill Bellamy Blake.”

 _“No!_ Murphy! Murphy, don’t!”

“He trusts me. He thinks he knows who I am and will trust me to protect his back in battle. If you get me to him, I’ll _murder_ him.” His smirk was sinister. “She’s in love with him. _That’s_ how we break her. _That’s_ how we punish her.”

Clarke’s fingers were bleeding from the ferocity at which she clawed at the door. Her throat was growing hoarse from screaming so loudly.

Murphy took a step towards her, his eyebrow lifted in challenge. “Oh, don’t worry, princess. I’ll make sure to bring back his heart for you. He always said it was yours, didn’t he?”

She spit at him through the bars. He didn’t flinch.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” He smirked at her before turning back to Parkinson. With his back towards her, she desperately wished she could reach through the bars and strangle him. She desperately wished she could make him feel a fraction of the pain she felt in that moment. “You traitor! You snake!”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I thought you were proud to be both of those things?” Pansy snickered.

“I’ll kill you! You hear me!? I’ll kill you!”

She continued screaming as the rest of her housemates — her former friends — all filed out of the cell block. If looks could kill, Murphy would be six feet under. He didn’t spare a glance back at her and, somehow, that made it hurt worse.

“I hate you!”

(It was a far cry from the love she professed for him only hours before.)

_“I HATE YOU!”_

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

Bellamy hated her.

Well, not really. He could never hate his sister, but he was beyond pissed off.

“Stay with me!” he snapped. Octavia glared at him. “I’m serious, O. Don’t go off on your own! You’ll die!”

“I seem to have done just fine on my own up until this point,” she countered. “I’ve been on my own since last year, Bellamy! I can handle myself!”

Fred gave them harsh looks. “Can you both pick up this discussion _after_ we’ve kicked some Death Eater ass? Merlin.”

Bellamy wasn’t too sure how long the battle had been going on for. The fighting started promptly at midnight, this much he knew, but the battle had been brewing for hours before that.

It couldn't have been later than ten thirty in the evening when they announced Potter’s arrival through Potterwatch. He had been in pyjamas already and Raven was half-asleep when they got the notification in the form of a Patronus. After that, time flew by. It had been a mess of hastily made plans, and rough Apparitions, and a long trek through a secret passage between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, and—

“On your right!”

Bellamy spun around, a shield already sprouting from the tip of his wand. Octavia stood at his side and shot down an approaching Death Eater, her breath coming out in fast gasps.

That had been a rush too — their reunion. Bellamy half expected it to be filled with tears and hugs and rushed explanations, but — nothing. It wasn’t anything like that. He first saw her in the Room of Requirement, her face bruised and lip busted, but _happy._ She was linked with Ginny Weasley as they welcomed Harry Potter back. Before he could really talk to her, she was whisked away by Neville Longbottom, needing her to help organize Dumbledore’s Army.

_It was astounding, just how much he had missed in the last year._

He knew she was leading small rebellions in Hogwarts — Clarke told him and he heard reports on Potterwatch. What he didn’t realize was that people meant she was now assisting the operation of the D.A., alongside other Gryffindors, helping keep hope alive in the castle.

And, apparently, organize the fight that would inevitably follow Potter to the castle.

He hated it. He hated watching her leave. He hated the fact that she threw herself into the battle. He hated that she was so willing to risk her life for others.

He hated it, but he understood.

He was like that too — he was willing to risk anything for his family.

Bellamy flowed well enough with Octavia. They were raised together and spent countless hours together, both in the Wizarding World and Muggle. He could tell exactly what she was thinking before she spoke, he could sense where she was moving before she did — and she did the same with him.

It gave them an advantage when it came to fighting — an advantage they used while escorting the younger students out of the castle — an advantage that won them a fight in Hogsmeade. It had only been him and Octavia in the Wizarding village, facing down hordes of Death Eaters and Dementors. He hated to imagine what would’ve happened if they weren’t as synched as they were.

“Neville needs more wands down by herbology!” Octavia insisted. 

She pushed her hair ( _that_ was different, too, Bellamy remarked) off her face and wiped the sweat from her brow. The hallway had grown relatively quiet after they dispatched the last Death Eater.

“Yeah, well, we need more wands here,” Bellamy insisted. He turned back to Fred and George, desperation in his eyes. “Right, guys? We need wands here?”

“Bellamy, we need wands everywhere,” George sighed. “There are seven secret passages in and out of the school — we’ve secured two; the girls and Lee have secured three. _There are two passages we still need to get to.”_

“What I’m hearing is that we need wands here.” He locked eyes with Octavia. “You heard Weasley. You’re needed here.”

He knew Octavia was right — fighters were needed everywhere.

The battle had been raging for hours. His arm shook with exertion, his clothing was soaked with sweat, he was covered with a mixture of dirt and grime and blood, and he could barely see straight.

_And he was one of the lucky ones._

Fallen wizards and witches were left around the castle. He had seen more dead bodies than he could count. He had watched more people die than he had fingers on his hand. _He’d_ killed more people than he could bear to think about.

His home — Hogwarts — had been reduced to rubble. Explosions rang out through the night, seemingly shaking the castle down to the dungeons. Fires rippled through corridors. Glass shattered. Shouting and screaming echoed through the night. There was no escape — everywhere they turned was a bloodbath, everywhere they stepped had remnants of disasters.

_At least Clarke wasn’t here._

He clung to this like a child clung to a blanket.

At least Clarke was safe with Murphy, wherever they were. At least, no matter how south this battle went, they’d be okay.

As the night progressed, he sought comfort with this idea even more. The odds were against them ever seeing the sun again. The odds of them winning this war were slim. 

_But at least Clarke would be okay._

She was far away from this battle. Hopefully she’d hear the news of their deaths before it was too late. Maybe she’d go to France, like he planned to when the war first got bad. Maybe she’d escape.

 _Yes,_ he insisted as he cast another shield charm. _She would escape Britain. She will be safe._

It was a thought that kept him fighting. It kept him upright, even when it felt like his body was falling apart from exhaustion. It kept him upright, even when he ran past the bodies of people he used to consider friends. It kept him upright, even when Dementors tried to rip his soul from his chest.

_Clarke would live._

She was one of his three girls guaranteed to be safe. He worried about Octavia and Raven too — two of the other most important people in his life. While he begged his sister to remain at his side, Raven was part of the other team. All he could do was hope.

He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Octavia on one side and George Weasley on his other. The twins had been put in charge of sealing up and defending all the secret passageways in and out of Hogwarts — a job that was daunting, even with nine of them working.

Fred stood several paces up the hallway, with one of his older brothers beside him, bantering back and forth. 

The lull was odd. For the first time in what felt like hours, no Death Eater breached the walls of the castle, and Bellamy could breathe.

He doubled over, sucking in breath after breath. The air was filled with dust, coating the back of his throat unpleasantly. His robes were torn from explosions and spells. His bicep was sticky with blood, where he had been hit with a cutting charm.

(He tried not to think of Clarke.)

“You okay?” he asked, glancing up at Octavia. 

She wasn’t in any better shape than he was; she was covered in dirt and blood and looked exhausted. He knew she hadn’t slept well in a long time — he could tell from the dark circles under her eyes — and wondered briefly how long it had been since she felt safe.

“I’m alive.” 

He’d have to take that for now.

“I need to find Katie,” George breathed. He grasped at the chain around his neck and glanced nervously down the hallway. “She told me she’d find me after she found Oliver, but—”

“Bellamy!”

His heart lodged itself in his throat as soon as he recognized the voice. He whipped around to stare in the same direction George was, coming face to face with Harper and Monty. He’d seen both of them when he first arrived at the school, but a surge still went through him.

_They were okay._

When they met in the middle of the corridor, their hug was filled with relief and joy. Harper clung to him, her hands firm against his back. She was shaking, although Bellamy wasn’t sure if it was from adrenaline or exhaustion. Monty flung his arms over Harper, sandwiching her in their hug.

She was speaking so fast that Bellamy couldn’t understand a single word she said. But, when she pulled away, her eyes were frantic and desperate. “You haven’t seen her, have you?”

“Who? Raven? She’s with the others.”

“Oh, shit,” Harper swore. “What was that guy's name? He was asking about her?”

“Murphy,” Monty recalled.

_Bellamy felt cold._

“What?” He pulled back sharply from the hug. His stomach rolled. His heart dropped to his feet. A chill descended over him. “Murphy? Are you sure?”

Because, if it was _Murphy_ asking about Raven, then…

_Then that meant he was here._

If Murphy was here, then—

“John Murphy,” Monty assured him. “He’s kind of terrifying in a health-hazardous sort of way. Wears braids and denim?”

Bellamy was hit with another wave of relief. The John Murphy he knew didn’t know that denim existed.

His hands shook as he shoved them into his pockets. His laugh was shaky. “Fuck. You must have the name wrong. John Murphy’s a Slytherin — he doesn't know what denim is. Maybe you meant John—”

“No,” Harper said. “No, we mean John Murphy. The man we saw is a Slytherin.”

Again, Bellamy felt the hands of dread reaching into his chest. He felt sick. His head spun from the drastic shift in his emotions.

“What?” No. No, this couldn’t be happening. “When? Where? Is he okay? Is he here?”

Harper grasped his hand. Her grip was steadying and grounding — the exact thing he needed when it felt like he had just been shoved off the top of the Astronomy Tower. He felt like he was plummeting towards something horrible, something unavoidable, something—

“Clarke’s here.”

_He hit the metaphorical ground._

The breath got knocked from his lungs.

“I saw her and Murphy a few hours ago.”

Bellamy didn’t know how, but, suddenly, he was on his knees. Stones dug into his flesh, sending sharp jolts of pain up his spine. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Harper hovered in his gaze, her eyebrows knit with worry.

_Clarke was here._

_Clarke was at Hogwarts._

It felt like something out of a nightmare.

The one thing he had clung to — the one thing that he found comfort in during the battle — had been ripped away from him.

_So this was what it felt like to drown._

“You haven’t seen her yet?”

Octavia was the one to answer. “No. We didn’t know she was here.”

Bellamy couldn’t breathe, but he wanted to scream. He wanted to scream that she wasn't supposed to be here. He wanted to yell to anyone who would listen — _Clarke Griffin was supposed to be safe._

“Where?” he managed to croak. He gripped Harper tighter. “Where did you see her?”

“It was hours ago, Bellamy. I thought for sure she would’ve found you by now.” 

She looked at him with pity. He didn’t want to know why she looked like someone just died. He didn’t want to think about the fact that her expression reminded him of a healer telling a patient’s family that their loved one just passed away. _He didn’t want to think about it._

All he wanted was Clarke to be safe.

“Where?” he growled. His shock and horror were slowly transforming into something stronger. He gripped it tighter, seeking strength with the furocity of his emotions. “Where, Harper?”

She helped steady him as he climbed to his feet. For a long moment, she didn’t speak and, just as he was about to ask her again, she opened her mouth.

“It was by the Great Hall. She was coming in from the south with Murphy, both wearing Muggle clothing. She asked about you, he asked about Raven. They’re looking for you both — looked desperate, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Clarke look so scared in my life.”

That didn’t make Bellamy feel any better.

_Clarke was scared._

_Clarke was at Hogwarts._

_Clarke was here._

Fuck.

His whole world that he built up just turned to ash. His stomach rolled and he was sure he would’ve got sick if he had any food in it. His head throbbed, his vision swam. Every instinct in his body was telling him to race towards the Great Hall, to search for Clarke, to stand with her until the bitter end.

_So, he did._

Without another word from Harper, Bellamy moved forward, his wand a solid weight in his hand and with Clarke the only thought on his mind.

“Bellamy!” Harper shouted, taking a single step after him. “Bellamy, stop!”

“I have to find her!”

“You won’t make it alone,” she insisted. “There’s too many Death Eaters. Staircases are blown to pieces. Corridors and whole wings of the castle are destroyed.” When Bellamy didn’t slow, her voice turned sharp. “Bellamy, you’ll die!”

“I don’t care! She’s out there somewhere and I’ve been doing fuck all when—”

“Now look who’s being the irresponsible one,” Octavia snapped. She pointed her wand in his direction. Bellamy caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and the image struck fear in his heart. She looked like she was seconds away from cursing him. “Stop and think rationally, Bellamy.”

“Merlin, you’re acting like a Gryffindor and charging into a battle without a plan!” Monty added, crossing his arms. “You don’t care if you die? How— how is that helpful to anyone? How does that even make sense!? You’re willing to die just so you can do this alone instead of taking three extra seconds to plan and survive long enough to see Clarke?”

“You don’t get it. I need to—”

“Hello, Minister!” the eldest Weasley shouted. Bellamy froze. His gaze was drawn back to where he stood only moments ago — beside the secret passage they were defending — where the three Weasley brothers now stood alone. “Did I mention I’m resigning?”

“You’re joking, Perce! I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were—”

_His world turned to ash once again._

Bellamy sailed through the air as an explosion rang out. For a long moment, it felt like he was floating in a pool of black water. The dust was so thick, he couldn’t see. There wasn’t a solid surface below his body as he flew backwards. He couldn’t hear.

_It felt like he was in a different world._

It all came to a grinding halt as he smashed against the ground. Pain flared up through his body as blown debris landed on him. The dust and smoke choked his lungs. Bellamy wasn’t sure if it was minutes or seconds that it stretched for, but he couldn’t tell which way was up or down, he was so disoriented.

_Octavia._

The world was still ringing when he staggered to his feet. The world tipped sideways, rocking back and forth as he struggled to remain upright. His hand shot out to grasp the wall, holding onto the jagged rocks to ground him. Blood ran down his forearm, coating his hand, leaving a bloody print against the stone.

The wreckage was a horrible sight. 

Death Eaters streamed in from the newly blown in wall, their silver masks gleaming in the torch light. The space where they stood — the defenders of the passages — was empty otherwise, everyone having been crushed by the falling wall.

With his heart pounding and panic gripping his chest, he shouted.

“Octavia! Octavia!?”

He didn’t care if the Death Eaters heard him. He didn’t care if he was shot down right there.

_He needed to find her._

Bellamy clutched his wand desperately as he hauled himself forward, his gaze raking through the rubble for any sign of her. Further down the hall, a few feet at most, he could see a red-head pulling himself up from the wreckage, but he didn’t stop to see who it was.

“Octavia!”

_There._

He recognized her wand sticking up through the space between chunks of concrete. Terror made his heart stop beating altogether, suddenly fearing the worst.

“O,” he breathed, unable to do anything other than stare.

Then, he was moving. His hands shook as he dug stone off of her. His shoulder ached. His chest was filled with agony.

_Don’t be dead._

_Please don’t be dead._

_I just got you back._

_Please don’t be dead._

When he pulled a stone from by her head, she let out a tiny cough and a loud groan. Her left arm had managed to shield her head from the explosion and, miraculously, she looked okay.

“Ouch.”

Bellamy laughed, bright and loud, before scooping her into his arms and pressing her to his chest. She responded sluggishly, but she responded, and that was all that mattered. Her arms wound tightly around his neck.

For a brief moment, the world seemed okay.

Then, it all shattered once again when he caught sight of another embracing duo.

Mere feet away from where he sat, clinging to Octavia, Harper and Monty clung to each other. He smiled and reached for them, ready to celebrate—

_They were dead._

They clung to each other in death, their arms intertwined and their faces pressed close together. Harper’s head was tucked under Monty’s chin and, if Bellamy squinted, he could almost pretend they were sleeping.

The breath was knocked from his lungs. A numbness crept up his spine.

_No._

_He hadn’t wanted to lose them either._

Just as Bellamy pulled numbly away from Octavia, a bone-chilling scream ripped through the air, making all the hairs along his arms stand upright.

“No — no — no! No! George! No!”

Bellamy staggered to his feet.

There, across the hall, Fred Weasley was shaking his brother, and Percy Weasley was kneeling beside them, and George Weasley’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> -some of the dialogue in this chapter came straight from “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” because this scene is an echo of the one in the book and I wanted to highlight that. “Hello, Minister! Did I mention I’m resigning?” / “You’re joking, Perce! I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were—” → these are both pieces of dialogue from JKR herself.  
> -AND, one of the most heartbreaking lines in the whole Harry Potter series — “And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.” — was also adapted to fit the plot of this fic. I had to throw some callbacks for the HP book fans out there.
> 
> Come yell at me!
> 
> [also u can find me on tumblr :)](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	41. Chapter 40: Hold Me Closely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just remember. you can do this.
> 
> also - the warnings from last chapter also apply here :)

**_CLARKE_ **

_ May 2, 1998 _

“Murphy!” Clarke screamed. Her throat was raw. Her nose ran. If she wasn’t so full of rage, she would’ve been on the floor, screaming until her throat bled. “Murphy, you fuck!”

She couldn’t hear them in the corridor anymore, but she continued to scream. If she wasn’t so caught up with the pure fury blazing through her, she knew she’d be overwhelmed by the feelings of betrayal. Even as it was, she could feel her heart  _ aching  _ and her stomach  _ twisting. _

Clarke had never felt like this before.

White-hot anger made her breathing turn laborious. Sweat poured down her back as she pounded on the concrete door. Her pulse throbbed against her neck and the rush of the blood echoed around her skull. She felt livid, and hot, and volatile — as if she was in the heart of a volcano.

Electricity arced through the air as she screamed. She couldn’t keep track of the words she yelled — everything had turned into one long, unbelievable blur.

_ Murphy betrayed her. _

Nothing could’ve prepared her for this. 

He played her like a cat played with a mouse. She did everything he had wanted; she gave him information, she defended him, she trusted him.

Clarke’s screams were wild with anguish and rage.

She didn’t know whether she wanted to rip his throat out of fall to the ground sobbing more. Both heartbreak and fury blazed through her, making her whole body come alive in ways she wished stayed dormant.

Never before did she want to break something so bad.

(It was terrifying.)

She needed to punch the walls until her bones broke, she needed to claw at the stone until her hands bled, she needed to scream until she passed out.

_ She needed to get out. _

Now, more than before, Clarke  _ needed out.  _ The urge to chase down Murphy and scream at him overwhelmed her. The  _ want  _ to race to the Death Eaters and tear them to pieces overwhelmed all logic. The  _ need  _ to find Bellamy — to protect him from Murphy, to warn him of their betrayal — was burning brightly across her.

She couldn’t tell if the rush of her blood was caused by the need for revenge or the need to protect.

Clarke wasn’t sure it mattered in that moment.

It was an emotion-fueled decision — something that was rare for her. It reminded her of Knockturn Alley, where Murphy had to tug her back from murdering her mother out of pure hatred and rage.

_ She should have known then.  _ He claimed he was protecting her — he claimed he was keeping her safe by pulling her away — but she knew better now. He had been keeping her mother safe. He had always been on  _ her _ side.

Clarke screamed. The ache from her knuckles ran deep, lighting a fire that burned across her body. 

_ She needed out. _

Her hands pulsed with warmth — something that Clarke was sure was blood running from her wounds. But, with another bang on the cell door, she realized she was wrong.

_ Magic. _

Her magic ran towards the palms of her hands, her actions fueled by her rage. When she next slammed her fist against the concrete, there was an audible  _ click  _ from the other side—

_ The door flung open. _

Clarke stumbled forward, her anger and hurt dying for a brief moment. The air of the corridor was cooler and fresher than the air had been in her cell. She could see more, too, due to the torch attached to the archway.

For a long moment, she stood in the corridor, panting shallowly. Her gaze dropped from her hands, which were broken and bleeding and shaking in front of her, and moved across to the cell door. The lock, which had previously held her in, had snapped clean in half and now lay broken on the ground.

_ She was out. _

And, as soon as she registered it all, she was moving.

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

His hands bled as he ripped piece after piece of rubble from their bodies.

“Down!”

He fell forward as soon as Octavia called out the order. They both collapsed into the rubble, narrowly dodging a barrage of spells. He hid his mouth under the collar of his shirt, desperately trying to breathe through the smoke and dust filling the destroyed hallway.

Death Eaters spilled in from the gaping hole in the side of the castle wall. The wind was cool on his hot and sweaty skin, making him shake. He tried to pretend that his shakiness was just from that — just the cold — and not the absolute primal fear flooding him, not the adrenaline that was keeping him upright, not the horror of seeing people he considered family fall.

“We’ve got to go!” Octavia yelled over the thunder of curses hitting the walls. She grasped Bellamy’s wrist tightly. “Bellamy, we’ve got to—”

“I’m not leaving them!” he shouted, rounding on her. He tore away from her grasp, his eyes wild and chest heaving. “I’m not— I can’t—”

“They’re dead!” she said hotly. Hearing it out loud made him feel like he was falling again — this time faster than before. “You can’t do anything about it!  _ Leave them,  _ and let’s—”

Bellamy lunged forward, shielding her head with his body as chunks of Hogwarts’ stone ceilings rained down on them. From the blown-out bits of the exterior walls, Bellamy could see the chaos below in the main courtyard. Giants were ripping down castle walls with their bare hands. Giant spiders scoured the field. Fires burned across the battlefield. It was almost easy to confuse the corpses scattered across the courtyard as chunks of debris.

When the crash of falling concrete ceased, he pulled his head from his arms and returned to digging out Harper and Monty from beneath the wreckage.

“I’m not leaving them here!” he shouted. 

While he knew there was nothing he could do to save them — they were already long gone —  _ he couldn’t abandon their bodies.  _ Not in the middle of a battlefield, not when dark creatures were scavenging the castle for the dead to consume, not when they meant so much to him.

Both Fred and Percy Weasley were doing the same with George’s body. They held him under the arms and crouched low, avoiding the flying spells, as they dragged him away. Fred’s howling of anguish and absolute heartbreak had vanished, leaving behind an expression he hadn’t seen on him before — pure and utter hatred.

_ It chilled Bellamy to the core. _

“To the Great Hall!” Percy yelled to the Blakes. “The injured are being kept there.” He cast a hasty shield charm to block a blue curse. He looked pale and queasy, like he was seconds away from throwing up. “They’re keeping the- the bodies there too.”

“Go!” Bellamy ordered. Octavia took up Percy’s position of blocking the oncoming spells. “Get out of here!”

Octavia let out a soft grunt and hauled herself to her feet. Several Death Eaters had spotted them and broke off from the incoming group, running in their direction.

“But—”

“Fred!” Bellamy barked.  _ “Now!  _ We’ll meet you there!”

The Weasleys didn’t need to be told twice. With the secret passage they were protecting fallen and their brother dead, they abandoned their post and took off down the corridor.

Octavia cast a wide shield charm, deflecting several curses sent in their direction. “Bellamy, hurry the fuck up!”

He kept digging.

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

Clarke slammed the cell door shut again, clearing way for her to dash through the corridor. Without slowing, she yanked the torch off the wall, and sprinted out of the cell block. 

She didn’t give a fuck  _ how  _ she got out. All she cared about was catching up to the Death Eaters. She wanted them to feel a fraction of the pain she felt in that moment. She needed to stop them before they got to Bellamy.

Revenge and protect.

Revenge and protect.

_ Revenge and protect. _

Clarke ran through the dungeons easily, her legs pumping faster than they ever had before. The hallways were familiar, having grown up in the castle. Being in the deepest level, the battle hadn’t reached these halls yet. If she didn’t hear the growing yells above her, she could’ve sworn it was a normal night.

As she ran, it was just her — and the torch — and the burn in her legs — and the steadiness of her panting — and the calmness that washed over her.

_ It was terrifying. _

She took the stairs two at a time. An explosion rang out above her, making her stumble, but she gripped the banister and pressed on. For the first time, she could hear screaming as she exited the dungeons. Still, she was too far away from the majority of the battle to hear the destruction she was sure enveloping the castle.

The stone and tapestries blurred together. Her feet pounded against concrete. Her breath was ripped from her lungs as she raced—

_ —faster, faster, faster— _

The battle was growing closer. Shouts between comrades echoed down the abandoned hallways. Screams of torture rang out. Sobs of agony fueled her.

And finally —  _ finally —  _ Clarke could hear people speaking off to the left. While the words were distorted, it was clearly Dax’s voice — crude and nasally.

Clarke took off in that direction without a second of hesitation.

The hallway was filled with dust. The window she flew past — the first one she had seen since the dungeons — was smashed in. Blood soaked the bottom of her shoes, leaving gut-wrenching footprints behind her. The castle was an echo of a summer storm; explosions rang like thunder, debris rained down just beyond the windowsills, lights illuminated the hallway like lightning.

_ And the electricity. _

She could feel it running through her body, her magic going haywire as she allowed herself to get swept away by the tide of emotions. Her control was slipping from her grasp quickly and, the scary thing was, she didn’t have any intentions on getting it back.

The next several moments happened in a daze.

Suddenly, as she turned the corner, she could see them — the group of her housemates and the Death Eaters. She very quickly processed that they each held onto their own wands.

An explosion rang out, causing a wave of dust to engulf the hallway and a burst of light to sweep away the shadows. As the chest-rattling boom echoed, she propelled herself forward.

_ They didn’t hear her coming. _

One of the masked Death Eater’s faces gave way to the end of the torch. She swung it across her body, letting it arc through the air. A chill passed her as the fire rippled as it clanged against the metal of the mask.

_ “Clarke!?” _

The mask of the Death Eater went flying, revealing the busted nose of the man beneath it. Using her built up momentum, she slammed her fist into his face. A sharp jolt of pain radiated up her wrist. A sick crack followed. The man fell to the floor, unconscious.

_ Hell broke loose. _

Before she could catch her breath, her bicep flared in pain. A gush of warmth ran across her skin, etching a permanent chill to her bones. She spun to the origin of the cutting charm and  _ chucked  _ the flaming torch in the direction of Mr. Parkinson.

She lunged in his direction, threats spilling from her lips, as the hallway descended into chaos. Spells snapped back and forth over her shoulder, all of which were traded amongst the Slytherin group.

Clarke was too far gone. Wrath consumed her. She felt wild and alive with power.

The torch bounced off Parkinson’s face, but his mask didn’t fall. She collided with him roughly, the momentum she carried forcing them to the ground. It just so happened that this pushed her out of the direct pathway of a brilliant green light — the Killing Curse burned its way into the stone wall across from her.

“Hey! Pansy!”

A body went flying over hers, tackling her assailant — Pansy — to the ground. They were a tangled mess of black robes and flying limbs.

Clarke managed to get the upper hand on Parkinson, planting both of her knees on top of his chest. The visible parts of his face turned purple as he sputtered for air.

“Fuck you!” She clawed at his mask, ripping it from his face. She flung it to the side and brought her fist down to connect with his face again. “You—”  _ punch  _ “—absolute—”  _ punch  _ “blood-purist—”  _ punch  _ “—maniac!” Blood splattered across the carpeted hall as she busted his mouth. His hands desperately tried to catch her wrists, but she smacked away his efforts easily. “You—”  _ punch  _ “—fucking—”  _ punch _ “—monster!”

Her chest heaved. Her vision swam. The throbbing from her hand washed away all other sources of pain and the sting of betrayal. She was fueled by hatred and adrenaline.

Clarke froze, her fist lifted in the air, her chest heaving, her mind spinning.

_ He was unconscious. _

She hesitated. Her arm twitched.

_ She could kill him. _

_ She could wrap her hands around his throat, and tighten her fingers, and— _

No.

Clarke reeled backwards, falling off his chest and scrambling to the side. Her stomach tightened as her mind caught up with her thoughts.

_ No. This war was not going to turn her into a monster. This war was not going to break her. _

Parkinson’s head lulled to the side, his pale skin covered in flecks of blood, his hands laying limply at his sides. She stared at him for a long moment, her blood rushing through her ears.

She wanted to kill him. She  _ really  _ wanted to kill him.

_ That was the most horrifying part. _

Before she could spiral along that thought, her attention was pulled away by the floor shaking beneath her and she remembered exactly where she was.

Clarke reached for the base of the torch, now extinguished and covered in blood. Her head swivelled around, her eyes sweeping for any remaining assailants. Duly, so noted that chaos had broken out behind her as she took down the two Death Eaters — she heard the snap of spells and saw the flurry of movements — but it took her until this very moment to understand exactly what happened. 

Only a handful of Slytherins remained standing, all with their wands pointed at the ground, all looking shocked and queasy.

Her gaze darted from person to person, taking in their expressions, trying to put the pieces together. 

Monroe, Sterling, Blaise, Greengrass, Josephine, and—

_ Murphy. _

She went cold with rage.

Before she could think about what she was doing, she was pushing herself off the ground and lunging at him, her teeth barred and a scream ripping loose.

Her fist connected sharply with Murphy’s nose. An echo to the previous moment, she heard the sick and satisfying sound of the snap of bone and pain rushed up her arms. Murphy stumbled backwards, his hands coming up to block his face. Mere seconds passed before his fingers were covered in blood.

_ It wasn’t good enough. _

“Fuck you!” she snarled, lunging at him again. This time, he was ready for her attack and managed to block her swing. “Fuck you! I hate you! I hate—”

“Woah!” Murphy called, stumbling backwards. “Clarke, hey—” He batted her hands away from his face and dove out of reach. “Clarke—!”

She chucked the torch at him. She couldn’t see straight, she was so angry. She wanted to yell and scream — she wanted to tell him how much she hated him, show him how much he made her hurt, make him hurt as much as she did — but all words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she was overwhelmed by the heartbreak of it all. Her throat tightened and her eyes burned. Tears were rolling down her cheeks before she could attempt to stop them. 

_ “Fuck you,”  _ she sobbed, her voice sounding pathetic to her. She sounded like a small child, crying to her mother. She tried to harness some of that same anger she felt from moments ago, but she found that it was all gone, having morphed into pure and utter agony. “Fuck you, Murphy! You monster! You—”

His eyes went wide and his jaw went slack with horror. “Shit — Clarke — wait—”

“I trusted you!” she sobbed. Now that the tears were falling, they were unable to stop. “I trusted you and—”

“You actually believed it!?”

Clarke wasn’t in the mood to play his games. She let out a worn sob and took another threatening step towards him, intending to shift her heartbreak and anguish into rage again. 

_ “Clarke, wait!” _ Murphy sidestepped her again. “No, you have it wrong. I lied!”

She didn’t pause.

“I hate you,” she declared again, this time her voice filled with more venom. “If you go near Bellamy or Raven again, I’ll rip your throat out myself!”

“Clarke!” he barked, his voice also shifting. “I’m not going to hurt them! I’m not!” His expression softened. The two wands he held clattered to the floor — his and hers. “Shh, Clarke. Calm.”

“Don’t tell me to be calm!” she cried. “You— You—”

“I lied!” He gestured wildly towards the downed Death Eaters at their feet. “Clarke, think!  _ I was acting.  _ You, what? You thought I was serious?”

The  _ hurt  _ in his voice made her pause momentarily.

He sounded truly wounded.

Then again, he sounded truly vile and venomous in the dungeons. 

She didn’t know what to believe.

He looked just as heartbroken as she felt, but his voice didn’t waver like hers. “I’m— You’re kidding, right? You’re not serious? Tell me you didn’t believe me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck. You believed it.” Murphy looked sick. “Clarke—”

“Don’t talk to me!  _ Don’t!” _

“Clarke! Hey!” Murphy lunged for her, grabbing both her wrists before she could swing at him. Her heart rate skyrocketed. She flinched away and yanked on her arms, all her instincts telling her to flee. “Hey!”

She watched as his expression softened once again. His grip wasn’t loose enough where she could break out, but his fingers weren’t digging into her wrists. He looked desperate and broken and—

“It was an act,” he said again, slower this time. “They knew you were a blood traitor, Clarke! They were going to kill you. You know that, right? If I hadn’t said anything, they would’ve killed you!”

She kicked him in the shin and scrambled backwards. Her finger shook as she pointed at him. “Stay away from me! Stay—”

“I’m on your side!” he promised. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. “Come on, Clarke. You know me! You know—”

“I  _ thought _ I knew you,” she snapped. He recoiled at her words, as if she had physically struck him. “You’re not who I thought you were.  _ I was wrong! _ You traitor! Liar!”

“Yes!” he insisted. “I lied. I lied to  _ save  _ you, Clarke! I am a traitor — a blood traitor!” He stepped towards her again. The intensity in his expression made her fall silent. “We needed out of those cells. I saw an opportunity. I took it. Alright? Easy. Simple as that. I lied to them — I tricked them! They have their heads so far up their own asses that they’re practically begging us to deceive them. They’re willing to believe any shit you tell them.” 

“No. No, you—”

“—said a lot of shit, yeah.” He took another step closer to her, moving slowly, as if she was a frightened animal. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you believed it. Although, not to make light of the situation, but  _ damn.  _ I could be Jack fucking Dawson if I wanted to! Apparently, I’m the best fucking actor in the world!” When Clarke didn’t laugh, his joy melted away. “Clarke…”

“No.” She took another step away from him. She felt unsteady on her legs. She didn’t know who to trust.  _ Every cell in her body  _ was telling her that Murphy was telling the truth — they were pushing her to trust him — but  _ her mind.  _ She held back. “I don’t— I don’t understand.”

“We needed a way out — they presented that. It was two birds with one stone; by pretending to be one of them, I found a way out of that hell-hole  _ and  _ kept them away from you.”

“But— you— the information you gave!? You said—!?”

“I said anything to make them believe me, but I didn’t say anything they didn’t already know. They knew all of our names from the wanted posters, Diyoza and Kane were already compromised, they know McGonagall is on our side of the way because,  _ uh,  _ hello,” he gestured to the castle falling to pieces, “we’re in the middle of a battle in her school.” He set his jaw. “I was smart, Clarke.  _ Think.  _ We— we need to be together on this one.  _ Please.  _ You have to believe me and trust me.”

“Does it matter?” Josephine snapped from somewhere behind them. Clarke’s gaze never left Murphy’s, nor did his leave hers.

Murphy’s jaw rippled. “Of course it fucking matters.” He took a step towards Clarke. This time, she didn’t back away. “Look into my mind, Clarke. Do it. You’ll see I’m telling the truth.” 

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t bring herself to use Legilimency on him. She was afraid it wouldn’t provide her any comfort; just moments ago, he told Parkinson that he deceived her the last time she used Legilimency on him.

“I told you to be a Slytherin,” he continued when it was clear she wasn’t. “That’s what I was doing.  _ I lied. I was resourceful.  _ You were right earlier — about how good intentions and bad actions pave the path to hell — but  _ I don’t care.  _ I’d happily  _ skip and dance  _ my way to hell if it means keeping my family safe.  _ And that’s you.  _ You’re my family, Clarke.  _ My only family.  _ You — and Bellamy and Raven — you’re the only ones I care about — not the Death Eaters, not Voldemort, and  _ definitely not  _ proving my worth to my father.” When he reached for her, she didn’t move away. His hands were cold on her throbbing hands. “You said that we do this together, and I still believe that. We’re doing this together, even if you hate me, even if—”

“I don’t hate you,” she said, her voice heated. Her chest caved in. “I’m just— I’m  _ confused.  _ I didn’t recognize you, and you were saying all that shit, and you sounded so  _ confident  _ and so—” She cut herself off before she could break down again. A moment passed where she gazed at him, her eyes boring into his, then—

She lunged forward, pulling him into a hug.

“Fuck you!” she sobbed, her voice breaking. She shoved him before grabbing him again for another hug. “You’re the worst!”

The relief that flooded through her made her sob into his shoulder.

“I’m the  _ best,  _ Clarke, and don’t forget it.” He clung to her tightly and, she realized, he was shaking, almost as if he was as nervous as she was. Then, lower, he said, “I’ll do whatever it takes to get your trust back.”

“How about you never do that again,” Clarke requested. She could see the logic behind it — she understood why he did what he did — but it broke her heart. “What you said — the assignment from Snape, the Unbreakable Vow—”

“Lies.” Murphy pulled away, his earlier concern melting away to cockiness. “I was pulling anything I could think of out of my ass. I haven’t spoken to Lucius Malfoy in the last three years and I sure as hell wouldn’t hold hands with  _ him  _ to make an unbreakable promise.”

“You couldn’t have warned me!?” she snapped. She swiped the tears off her cheeks, wincing as she agitated her hands. “I thought you betrayed us. I could’ve killed you!”

“But you  _ didn’t,  _ and that’s what counts.” Murphy turned sombre. “Besides,  _ your  _ reaction is what made them believe it. If you hadn’t gone all,” he gestured vaguely, “you know, then they wouldn’t have bought it.”

“And all that talk about Muggleborns and ‘I’m loyal to my Dark Lord?’”

“Bullshit. Voldemort can kiss my ass.” He turned back to the few Slytherins who remained standing. “No offence to your precious— actually;  _ full  _ offence. Your Dark Lord is a sociopath.”

It was at this time that Clarke turned to look at the remaining Slytherins; Daphne, Josephine, Monroe, Sterling and Blaise all stood several feet away from them, each wearing varying expressions.

Both Pansy and her father were out cold on the ground, along with two other Death Eaters, Dax, Ontari, and Nott. While Clarke knew she took down two Death Eaters, it was shocking to see the others unconscious.

“What? You thought you were charging into this fight alone — with a fucking  _ torch —  _ and you thought you could win?” Murphy snorted. “Nah. You had help, princess.”

It was a terrifying realization to know she had been so caught up with her rage and revenge that she didn’t register anyone around her. 

Josephine simply lifted her eyebrow and turned away, her expression still cold. “For the record,  _ I  _ didn’t do anything.”

“Congrats,” Murphy drawled, “gold star for you, Josie. Salazar.” He bent down, grabbing both of their wands and offered hers. She gingerly took it from his grasp. Her body filled with warmth as she held the wood of her wand, a wave of safety and comfort washing over her. “For the record — what I said back there about you deserving all the awful things that have happened to you, I didn’t mean it.”

She could sense the honesty in his voice. The warmth reflected in his eyes was familiar — a stark contrast to the stranger that had glared at her through the bars of the cell.

“Okay.” 

The castle shook so roughly that Clarke felt it shake her heart in her chest. His expression pinched. “Good, because we don’t have time for any more warm and fuzzy shit. We gotta move.” He glanced in the direction the Death Eater group had been heading — towards the Great Hall. “I’m not against playing dirty here, as you saw, and neither are they.”

Clarke took the opportunity to heal the major injuries on her hands. She could feel a few knuckles busted under her skin from punching too many Death Eaters and stone. She grimaced as the bones mended themselves back together.

“I know you want to find Bellamy — I want to find Raven, too — but we can’t, not yet.” Murphy shifted uneasily. “You heard what Parkinson said; a team of Death Eaters is moving towards the Great Hall.  _ They’re going to wipe out whoever is in there.” _

Clarke stilled. She heard Parkinson say that, that much was true, but the implications hadn’t hit her until now.

The Great Hall was where their injured and dead were housed. The witches and wizards being sheltered there were unarmed and unprotected. If Death Eaters were to hit them there, it wouldn’t be a battle, it would be a slaughter.

Her expression must’ve reflected the horror she felt. Murphy’s eyebrows raised. “Yeah. We gotta move. We’re running out of time.”

This was only further emphasized by the castle shaking again. It felt as though the whole place was being taken down, brick by brick.

“Alright,” she agreed, her grip on her wand tightening. “Let’s go.” 

Despite every piece of her soul screaming to find Bellamy, she had to listen to logic.  _ She had to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.  _ They were the only ones who knew the Death Eaters’ plans to attack the Great Hall and murder everyone inside; they were the only ones that could stop it.

Both filled with determination, they stepped together, moving in the direction of the Great Hall. The adrenaline in her veins hushed all the pain she felt around her body, her heart pounded, her body felt detached from reality—

“Hey!” Monroe called, stepping forward. Her expression was fierce and unyielding. “Forget about us?”

The funny thing was that — yes — Clarke had forgotten about the other Slytherins.

Sterling was the one to step forward, his jaw locked and his knuckles white around his wand. “I’m coming too.” His lip curled in disgust. “You think I  _ want  _ to follow the Dark Lord? You think you two are the only Slytherins that  _ hate  _ him and everything he stands for? No. I’d rather die than follow him.”

Murphy snorted. “You were happy enough to pledge allegiance to him and march on the Great Hall a few minutes ago.”

“So were you,” he countered. “I wasn’t going to go through with it. I had a plan. Or, I was working on one anyways.” His expression remained cool. “Point is — I’m coming. You two aren’t the only ones getting the glory tonight.”

“We’re not doing it for glory,” she replied.

“Potter’s pals locked you up,” Josephine pointed out sharply. “You think they’re going to give you any glory after the war? You could be the one to slit the Dark Lord’s throat, and they’d still find a way to paint  _ you  _ as the villain.” She took a few steps backwards. “I’m not dealing with that shit. I’m out.” Before she turned completely, she pointed towards the Great Hall. “There’s going to be heavy losses on both sides. If you’re smart, you’ll leave like I am.”

Blaise hesitated for a few seconds before he began walking in her direction.

“Blaise!” Sterling snapped. “Come on, man, we—”

“She’s right. I can see where this is going. The Dark Lord might not win this war, but Potter’s forces won’t come out untouched. I’m not dying for this garbage.”

Josephine snorted in amusement. “Everyone else might like to play dress up and pretend to be all  _ good  _ and  _ noble,  _ but at least I am honest. That’s something the rest of you can’t claim.”

With that, both Josephine and Blaise turned their backs and began the trek towards the closest doors.

Clarke turned towards the remaining three, her jaw locked in determination and her chin lifted high. “You’re free to follow them. Considering you haven’t tried to kill me yet, I’m assuming none of you are on Voldemort’s side, but if you stay and you prove me wrong, I won’t hesitate to kill you. If you stay and fight, I can’t promise that you won’t be killed anyways. Out there, people who we were told are family and friends will be the bad guys and they won’t be looking to chat.”

“Oh, come on,” Monroe snapped, crossing her arms. “Sterling’s right; you aren’t the only ones to disagree with this war. For the last year, we laid low, we tried to do what we could without painting targets on our backs, we fought back. I’ve been  _ waiting  _ for this day. Your boyfriend might be in another house, but I have friends too — friends who I’m not willing to abandon. This is our fight as much as it is yours.”

“And you, Daphne?” Clarke pressed, turning to the last unspoken Slytherin. “What are you doing?”

“I’m finding my sister.” She took a few steps backwards, heading in the direction Clarke just came from. “My family is my responsibility — not this war.”

Then, there were two.

Murphy and Clarke stood opposite to Sterling and Monroe, each of them determined and filled with fire. Murphy nodded firmly. “Alright, then. I guess it’s just us.”

“Us four against a unit of Death Eaters,” Monroe said dryly. “Nothing can go wrong there.” Her eyes flashed. “And, before you tell me to leave, Griffin, you can save it. I  _ know  _ I can leave. I’m  _ choosing  _ to stay.” Her nose wrinkled. 

Clarke blew out a long breath and tried to steady her nerves. “Right. It’s up to us to do what’s right — for whatever reason we’re here; for friends, for glory, because it’s the right thing to do — it doesn’t matter. We’re the only Slytherins left to fight. Nobody knows we’re on Potter’s side, so we’re going to be taking heat from all angles.”

Murphy laughed dryly. “Great. I love how that worked out for us the first time. You got a plan this time around?”

“No.” He laughed again. “But we stick together. Slytherin’s reputation in this war depends on  _ us  _ and  _ us alone.  _ It’s time to show we’re more than stereotypes and reputations and houses. People are  _ counting  _ on us.”

Murphy clapped Clarke on the shoulder. “Good pep talk. Very Gryffindory of you. You’ve been hanging around Bellamy too much.” He turned to the other two. “You guys clear? We’re in this together? We’re fighting together?”

Monroe gave him a simple thumbs up.

“Yeah, sure, but…” Sterling glanced to the unconscious bodies strewed around the hallway. “What are we doing with them?”

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

Bellamy tried not to think about how  _ warm  _ Harper was in his arms. If he didn’t know any better — if he hadn’t watched a wall fall on her, if he hadn’t pulled countless pounds of rock from her body, if he hadn’t pulled her from a pool of her own blood — then he could’ve pretended she was still alive.

_ But, he knew better. _

Her lips were turning blue. Her chest remained still. Her heartbeat had fallen silent.

Monty floated beside him as he and Octavia raced away from the fallen passageway. She kept her back towards him as they moved to the staircase, shield after shield bursting from her wand. The snap of spells against her shields was continuous, the Death Eaters’ approaches ruthless and unrelenting. 

Bellamy readjusted his hold on Harper and glanced behind him. Half a dozen Death Eaters were racing after the two of them, only held at bay by Octavia’s sheer will. No matter how strong his sister was, he knew she couldn’t keep this up forever.

The stairs were coming into view. More and more Death Eaters trailed after them. Their cheers and shouts echoed off the otherwise empty walls. They were toying with them, like a wild animal toyed with its prey. This was just a game to them.

“We’ll never make it!” Octavia shouted. “Once we reach the stairs—  _ ugh!”  _ She fell to one knee, her hand wrapping around her bloodied bicep, an injury from a stray spell. “Bellamy— we can’t— if we give them the high ground—”

They weren’t going to make it.

Bellamy glanced back at the number of black robes chasing them and felt his heart plummet. Even if he stood beside Octavia and gave everything he got, it wouldn’t be enough to take them down.

_ They were going to die. _

His mind raced as he tried to figure out a plan. Maybe he could hold them back long enough to give Octavia a chance — maybe she could escape while he fought. It would mean giving his life — but, if he was giving it for her, he’d be okay with that.

“O,” he started to say, turning to face her. Even as her arm bled profusely, she kept casting shield after shield. Her elbow shook. Sweat beaded down her forehead. Her eyes were alight with fire. “O, you have to go, okay? Go and—”

“If you’re going to suggest—” she grunted, “—a plan that ends up with you sacrificing yourself, think again! Your plans suck ass!” With a flurry of movements, she cast a stunner between shields, causing one of the Death Eaters to fall to the ground. “We do this my way, Bellamy!” Finally, she glanced in his direction. “We’re bringing down this wing!”

His eyes widened for a brief moment as he processed her request.

“What!? Octavia—”

She pushed herself to her feet and pointed at the tall stone pillars along the sides of the hallway. “Aim for the supports! Take the back ones out first — seal it off!” She gave him a firm nod. “Now!”

There was no time to question her logic or offer a different plan.

He lowered both Monty and Harper to the ground before turning towards the hoard of incoming Death Eaters — a mass that had grown so large that he couldn’t count at first glance. In the distance, he could see even  _ more  _ streaming in from the giant hole in the wall where the secret passage had once been. That single entry point would give the Death Eaters the chance to infiltrate and overwhelm the whole castle.

In a way, this was similar to Kane’s. The training his old mentor gave him made each movement feel like second nature. Aiming for the pillars, shooting spells with all the strength he could muster, watching as stone gave way to the powerful jets of light — it was all a distant echo to the black boxes on the wall of the Quidditch Pitch in the basement of Kane’s house.

One by one, the pillars crumpled. Stone turned to dust. Cracks spiderwebbed up along the walls and across the ceiling. Debris fell like hail in a summer storm, smashing the occasional body to the ground.

After one particular loud crack, the world began to shatter around him.

It reminded him of an avalanche wiping away life alongside a mountain, or a tidal wave crashing against the shore. The ceiling collapsed in on itself as the pillars crumbled. Light from the moon in the sky bled through the cracks in the ceiling, spilling into the hallway, casting a blue hue over everything.

It felt like a dream.

When the first slab of stone hit the ground, a deep boom echoed out. The floor shook under him, nearly throwing him off balance. He darted forward to steady Octavia, holding his breath and squeezing his eyes shut as a gush of air washed over them.

He heard more than saw the change in the Death Eaters. What were shouts of joy and sick sadistic glee now turned into shouts of horror. They screamed as they ran; some of them dove towards the edges of the hallway in hopes they’d be spared; others charged towards the staircase, sprinting in their direction; others barely made it a single step before they disappeared beneath the rubble.

It was horrifying and, yet, Bellamy couldn’t look away.

It was only when Octavia grabbed his arm and began to tug him away from the imploding hall did he break free from his shock. With each of them carrying a body, they sprinted towards the staircase at the end of the hallway.

“Go!” Octavia shouted, stumbling as she looked over her shoulder. “Go! Faster!  _ Faster—!” _

He could feel stone pieces stinging the backs of his legs as he ran. The dust in the air made it nearly impossible to see — nearly impossible to breathe. The resounding sounds from the collapsing wing of the castle were growing louder as the screams of fear grew quieter.

Bellamy and Octavia burst onto the staircase at the same time, neither of them stopping their descent until they were two floors below. He collapsed to the ground, heaving and dizzy. Pieces of the wreckage were embedded into his skin and clothing. Dust fell from his hair like fresh snow, burning his eyes and making him choke.

While he struggled to breathe, they were alive.

_ They were alive,  _ and they had just killed countless Death Eaters.

He knew he should’ve felt remorse. He should’ve felt like a monster.

_ He didn’t. _

It was horrifying to note how  _ satisfying  _ it was to kill the Death Eaters — to get revenge for the lives they took right in front of him — to stop them from hurting even more people. 

Maybe  _ that  _ made him a monster.

He didn’t care.

“We can— We can mark that off,” Octavia wheezed from beside him, blood trickling from her temple. “Seventh floor passage has been sealed.”

That was one way to look at the complete decimation of the seventh floor hallway.

Bellamy wheezed out a laugh and rolled onto his back.

Now, they just had to cross the battlefield and make it to the Great Hall in one piece.

_ Fuck. _

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

_ Fuck! _

Clarke decided that it was impossible to make it to the Great Hall in one piece.

The group of four Slytherins raced through the halls of the castle. With each turn they made, they grew closer to the heart of the battle. While the dungeons had remained relatively untouched, the closer they got to the main points of the castle, the more destruction they found.

They climbed up several flights of stairs, racing towards the walkway between the two buildings. They came across the odd Death Eater as they ran, only stopping to stun and tie them up before continuing.

The importance of their actions wasn’t lost on any of them. They knew they were the only thing metaphorically standing between the Death Eaters and the injured, even though they were physically a building away from the Great Hall. They were the only ones who knew what was coming — the only ones who could stop the slaughter.

Murphy threw the door to the walkway open and a gust of cold air hit Clarke like a wall. Her breath left her lungs, her muscles turned to ice, a tidal wave of dread engulfed her.

_ Dementors. _

The very familiar hooded figures swooped towards the walkway, death rolling off them like a wave of radiation. Beyond them — across the gorge and in the courtyard of the main Hogwarts building — the ground lit up light fireworks. Spells of various colours were traded back and forth between people too small to distinguish. Giants clobbered the sides of the castle, tearing down walls and mowing down rows of animated statues set up to guard the school.

Maybe it was the impact of the Dementors, or maybe it was because this was the first time she had set eyes on the battle since it began, but her breath was ripped from her lungs. She was seemingly plunged under ice cold water, snuffing out the fire of hope and resistance that burned within, filling her with a chill that seemed to wrap around her bones, eating through her soul, and—

A bright blue light burst to life right in front of her, quickly followed by a cheer of pure joy from Murphy. Clarke’s eyes snapped away from the raging battle, locking on the Patronus that swooped protectively overhead.

_ A raven. _

Both Sterling and Monroe made sounds of awe as the misty animal drove away the Dementors and as they were flooded with warmth.

“Beat you!” Murphy grunted. She laughed at the challenge.

Clarke lifted her wand, casting her Patronus alongside Murphy’s, and they were off sprinting again, a wolf and a raven racing beside them, driving away the chill of the Dementors.

As they raced towards the next building, her eyes scanned the chaos that enveloped the castle. They were still too far away and still too high up to make out any details of the action in the courtyard, but she hoped the dead bodies littering the grounds were not ones of her friends.

_ She hoped none of them were Bellamy and Raven. _

Desperate to keep her Patronus alive, she forced her thoughts in a different direction. She knew that if she worried about them —  _ that if she thought about Bellamy —  _ her Patronus would be extinguished due to her pure dread.

She drank in the destruction. The giants continued their rampage across the grounds, their clubs swiping down row after row of statue and Order members. The footbridge at the front of the castle was  _ gone  _ — whatever was left was smouldering. The night was lit up by flashes of spells — reds, greens, blues. 

It could’ve been beautiful.

They were almost to the castle when  _ another  _ explosion rang out — this one shaking the bridge under their feet so violently that Clarke was briefly afraid it would crack.

She glanced up towards the roof of the castle and watched in a mixture of horror and amazement as the roof began to shudder. Something, or someone, on the seventh floor must’ve tore down the walls of the tallest storey. Fire blazed across the roof for a short moment before it collapsed in on itself. An enormous cloud of dust erupted from the demolished structure, colouring the night sky grey.

“Fuck!” Murphy breathed. He sounded exactly as she felt — awed by the feat of magic, but terrified at the image. 

What used to appear so strong and unbreakable was being ripped into pieces.

Clarke was shocked by how much damage had been inflicted on the building. She didn’t want to imagine the number of wounded and dead. 

They entered the castle and immediately encountered a pod of Death Eaters. Her and Murphy’s Patronuses dissolved into thin air. They moved together instinctually, their movements well-coordinated and practiced. They alternated between shielding each other and sending spells towards those in masks.

Within seconds, the Death Eaters were on the floor, all unconscious. As they did with all previously encountered enemies, they shot ropes at them, ensuring they’d remain out of the battle, even if they did wake up.

The second building was filled with more chaos and destruction than the first. No surface had gone untouched; windows were smashed in, stone was scorched and chipped, doors hung from their hinges, wood was splintered, and blood was splattered across the walls. Shrieking echoed from  _ everywhere.  _ Debris rained down on them as they ran down the central staircases, heading towards the main floor. They raced past more dead bodies than she could count — as they passed each one, her stomach twisted and she slowed enough to see if she could identify them.

When Clarke  _ did,  _ in fact, recognize one of the dead, she felt her heart sink.

Nymphadora Tonks was sprawled across the staircase that led to the third floor, her purple hair fanned out around her like a halo, and a peaceful expression on her face. Her wand arm was outstretched in front of her, almost as if she had been in the middle of casting a spell when she was murdered.

She didn’t know the woman well. She knew the story of her family, having descended from a very old Pureblood family. She knew her father had been killed during the war. She knew she had become an Auror after she left Hogwarts. While she was a student at school, she was a damn-good Quidditch player for the Hufflepuff team. 

Other than that, the woman was a stranger.

Next to her, clutching her other hand, was an old professor of hers — Professor Lupin. Seeing him was almost too painful and she looked away abruptly.

Now that she had stopped to look at their faces, Clarke couldn’t bear to leave them alone on a staircase that was falling apart. Together, her and Murphy hooked their arms under Tonks’, while Sterling and Monroe took Lupin, and continued their trek towards the Great Hall.

The vestibule outside of the Great Hall was a far cry from what her and Murphy saw earlier that evening. Pieces of the walls were broken, scattered across the floor. Portraits had been ripped from the walls and smashed to pieces. She counted a half dozen dead Hogwarts students — all wearing either yellow, blue or red robes.

It felt like it took ages for them to travel from the dungeons to the Great Hall. Clarke was terrified that they hadn’t made it in time — terrified that they’d throw open the doors to the Great Hall and see the aftermath of a battle — terrified that they had failed.

But, she was met with a scene of  _ calm  _ as they opened the Great Hall doors and slipped inside.

Several pairs of eyes snapped towards them as they burst into the room, their chests heaving. Clarke allowed herself a moment to take in the room and the handful of people were clustered around the space — the family and friends of the dead or injured. Madam Pomfrey rushed between patients, administering potions and casting spells. Along the centre of the room, where the long house tables used to be positioned, now housed rows of the dead.

A coldness filled her at the sight. While this room looked untouched, it was a harsh reminder that this was  _ real.  _ People were  _ dying.  _ People were  _ hurting. _

But, the room was still standing. The Death Eaters hadn’t attacked yet. 

_ They made it in time. _

And, they had work to do.

Clarke sprang into action quickly, knowing that the attack could be launched at any second.

“Quick,” she breathed, her chest still heaving. “Let’s set Tonks and Lupin down. Monroe, you’re in charge of setting up defence along the west windows — Sterling, you take the east. Murphy, you’re at the front door, alright?”

“Inside or outside the door?”

“Outside for now. When you see them coming, get in here. We’ll take them together — all of us.” Clarke lowered Tonks’ body to the ground, her heart twinging painfully at the action. “There’s only four of us and we don’t know how big this team is.”

“We know Byrne is one of them,” Murphy recalled. “She’s usually with both—”

_ “GET OUT!!” _

The request was said with so much venom that Clarke had to actively fight the instinct to whip up her wand and fire a stunner in that direction. Her body was still buzzing with adrenaline and her nerves were fried.

“Don’t touch him!” 

Clarke’s gaze zeroed in on the source of the yelling, coming face to face with the red-headed matriarch of the Weasley family. Mrs. Weasley was  _ glaring  _ at Monroe and Sterling, who still clutched onto Lupin’s limp body.

She lifted her hands to show she had no ill intent and stepped in front of her group. Mrs. Weasley’s gaze snapped to hers. If possible, she was filled with more fury. 

“We found them on the stairs,” Clarke said slowly. “We couldn’t leave them there.”

Mrs. Weasley’s expression flickered as her eyes caught sight of both Tonks and Lupin. Clarke could’ve sworn she saw her bottom lip tremble in an effort to hold back tears.

She used her distraction as an opportunity to scan the rest of the faces just beyond hers. It looked as though the majority of the Weasley family was here. Clarke didn’t know the family very well — she just knew that red hair meant Weasley — but she recognized a few of them huddled together. They were sobbing as they clung together, their expressions pinched with pure agony — enough agnosy to make  _ her  _ own heart lurch. And there, on the floor in the centre of it all, was a red-headed man, covered in dirt and blood.

_ One of the Weasleys had died. _

Before she could begin to guess which one, Mrs. Weasley strode forward, her eyes filled with fire. “Get out! Get out before I use an Unforgivable on you!”

“Listen,” Clarke began, taking a few measured steps towards her. “We’re here to help, okay?”

“Yeah, we’ve already been through the whole ‘you are a Slytherin! You are evil! You’re going to get locked in the dungeons!’ thing like — what, four hours ago? — so we really don’t need a repeat,” Murphy said snarkily. “Clarke, I’m headed out.”

But, before he could move, Mrs. Weasley’s wand swivelled to point at his chest, her face flushing with anger. “Don’t use that attitude with me!”

Clarke could see her emotions were everywhere — she was angry, and full of hate, and full of remorse, and grieving. Murphy’s snark wasn’t helping anyone.

“Go, Murphy,” she requested. She quickly glanced at Monroe and Sterling. “Put him down slowly and secure the windows.” Clarke turned back to Mrs. Weasley and debated on the best way to approach this. “I can see you’re upset. I’m sorry about that, but—”

_ “You  _ did this,” she accused, her voice sharp.  _ “Your kind  _ did this! You killed my son!”

“I didn’t kill your son, Mrs. Weasley,” she responded evenly. “I’m sorry for your loss, I really am. I didn’t know your family, but I know he didn’t deserve to die.  _ Nobody  _ deserves to die — nobody on our side of the war, anyways.” 

(She thought of Voldemort, and her mother, and Murphy’s father, and how they  _ definitely  _ deserved to die.)

“‘Our side,’” she spat venomously. “You don’t belong on our side. You’re one of  _ them.  _ Look at you! Blonde hair, blue eyes — you’re a Griffin. And your friends, all in green.  _ Slytherins.” _

“You’re right,” Clarke said, once again approaching her slowly. “My name is Clarke Griffin. The four of us are Slytherins, but we’re here to help. Frankly, we don’t have  _ time  _ to argue, Mrs. Weasley. A group of Death Eaters are on their way here  _ right now.  _ If we don’t set up our defenses—”

“Liar! How do you know they’re coming unless you’re one of them? How do you—”

“We know because we were  _ raised  _ by them. We know they’re going to play dirty.” Clarke was quickly growing agitated. “I know you’re upset, but, trust me, you need us right now.”

“Trust you?  _ Trust you!?  _ How could we ever—”

“Mom.” Mrs. Weasley instantly grew quiet at that and glanced towards the source of the voice. Clarke recognized the wizard who had broken off from the rest of his family as one of the Weasley twins. She internally prepared herself for the fight that was to come.

“Honey,” Mrs. Weasley said, her voice holding a tenderness that hadn’t been present before. “Go back with the others. I’ll deal with this—”

Surprisingly, it was  _ her  _ who the twin’s red-rimmed eyes locked onto. He looked like a mess; he was covered in blood and dust, his face was swollen and tear-stained, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like the ghost of the man who used to walk these halls.

“Clarke,” he said simply, as if she was an old friend. Her heart froze in her chest. “Hi.”

Why was he looking at her like he knew her? Why wasn’t he trying to tear her eyes out like his mother was? 

“Hi,” she said slowly, still confused. Her heart thudded. “Fred, right? Or… are you George?”

_ That  _ was the wrong thing to say. His expression completely crumpled. “No,” he said, his voice wavering. “No, it’s Fred.” He vaguely gestured behind himself. “George is— he—”

Her eyes fell to the single Weasley on the ground — the mirror image of the man in front of her.

She went cold with remorse.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what to say in this situation. She didn’t know how to comfort someone. A part of her wanted to cross the short distance between them and hug him, since that was what Bellamy did to comfort her, but she barely  _ knew  _ the guy. Instead, she stood still. “I’m so sorry, Fred.”

“Go on,” Mrs. Weasley urged, her voice still soft. “Go back to the others. I’ll get the Slytherins out and—”

“No,” he said fiercely. Both her and Mrs. Weasley looked equally shocked. “If she says they’re here to help,  _ they’re here to help.  _ I trust them.” A pause, then, “George trusted them too.”

It was then that Clarke put two and two together. The realization made her throat tighten and her heart ache.

“Bellamy,” she said simply. “You were on the run with Bellamy.”

She had to fight tears when he gave a curt nod. “He talked about you a lot, made us see that we’re all unfair towards your group.” Her heart swelled with absolute love and adoration for Bellamy. He was so  _ good.  _ Fred turned back to his mother. “Leave them, alright? Please? For me?”

“But— you don’t know her, Fred! She could be—”

“Do you trust me?” he pressed. She nodded. “Then there’s your answer.” He tugged his mother’s arm again. “Leave her, mom, and we’ll—”

He never got to finish his sentence.

Murphy burst through the door, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. As quickly as he burst into the room, he slammed the Great Hall door shut, his back pressing against the wood.

They locked eyes. His were blown wide with fear. His hands shook at his sides.

_ She already knew. _

“They’re here.”

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

They were on the second floor — one storey above the Great Hall — when he heard it.

His feet froze to the ground as soon as he heard the outer doors click open. His free arm shot out to block Octavia from taking another step.

“Ouch! Wha—”

They both fell silent, hearing shuffling and cheering. His heart hammered in his chest as they waited, a sense of dread and unease making him feel sick. Then, a beat later, a loud battle cry arose, echoed by what sounded like dozens of voices.

Bellamy pulled Octavia into the closest doorway, sliding out of sight of anyone on the staircase, and raised his wand to prepare for a fight. They both lowered Monty and Harper to the ground to free up their hands. His fingers were tight on his wand and a stunner was on the tip of his tongue, his body prepared to strike at the first sign of movement. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Octavia do the same, raising her wand and crouching slightly.

A long moment stretched by, and, if anything, the battle cries had grown quieter. They weren’t coming in their direction. If they weren’t headed up the stairs, then that meant—

_ The Great Hall. _

Horror like no other washed up in Bellamy, making the edges of his vision dim and his ears ring. Octavia must’ve realized the same thing as he did, because she was suddenly grasping his wrist so tightly that it managed to bring him back to reality.

“The Great Hall!” she hissed, sounding more frightened than he could ever remember. He felt that same fear reflected inside of him; making his legs feel like jelly, making his stomach drop, making him feel dizzy with panic. “That’s where—”

“I know!” That was where the injured and dead were being taken care of. Even more horrifying, he knew the room was filled with those mourning their lost loved ones. They would never be in the right frame of mind to raise their wands and fight for their lives.

_ It was a planned slaughter. _

Bellamy took off in a dead sprint towards the Great Hall, taking two or three stairs at a time. The world blurred around him — the portraits bled together, the wind whistled in his ears, his feet slammed against marble, magic crackled just under his skin. Octavia was at his side, racing just as quickly as he did, her breathing coming out in sharp jolts.

_ Faster, faster, faster. _

They flew down flights of stairs, a desperate rush to get to the Great Hall and defend it. He could hear the sounds of a battle raging just around the bend — the sharp snap of spells, the screams of the dying, shouts between allies. He needed to help whoever was defending the Great Hall — needed to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves — needed to—

He was knocked roughly to the ground, the impact of which stole his breath. Bellamy went tumbling down the final few steps before coming to rest against a large pile of rubble. His whole body groaned in protest. He struggled to suck in a breath. Before the world stopped spinning around him, he lifted his wand, pointing it in the direction that he had been pushed, and—

A cold hand clamped over his mouth and he was shoved roughly into a closet. Mere seconds later, Octavia was following him into the darkened space, her legs unsteady beneath her. On instinct, Bellamy caught her before she hit the ground, and he angled his body, his wand raised to attack whoever pushed them—

He froze.

The closet door swung shut behind the third person. The tip of their wand glowed blue, casting a light over them, making the witch holding the wand look like a ghost.

Bellamy’s eyes widened. “Diyoza!?”

Before he could examine her, she lunged at him, tugging him in for a hug. He went enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “Blake, good to see you.” The hug was short lived. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Now that he was pulled back from his mentor, he could see what she looked like. She looked relatively the same since he last saw her several months ago at her safe house before the attack. She bore signs of a battle though; her blonde hair was matted with blood, as was the side of her face — she was sporting a nasty scrape across the left side of her head. She looked exhausted too, like she had been fighting for hours.

He was sure he looked the same. After all, they  _ had  _ been fighting for hours.

“Have you seen the others?” Diyoza pressed. “Fuck, are  _ they  _ okay!? I haven’t heard from any of you since March!”

“We’re fine,” he promised her. Despite not having  _ seen  _ Clarke in months, he knew she survived past the attack on Diyoza’s, as did Murphy. “Or, at least, we  _ were  _ fine before the battle. I came with Raven, but haven’t seen any of them since the start.”

They both knew exactly how much could change in so little time. Their friends' dead bodies were bright reminders of that.

“Tell me you weren’t just about to charge mindlessly into a battle?”

“I’ve already charged mindlessly into a battle,” he shot back. “I’m here, in the middle of a crumbling castle, aren’t I?” He realized the attitude he was carrying and pushed it aside. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“Gryffindors,” she bit out, but it didn’t hold any bitterness.

“It’s the Great Hall,” Bellamy explained, his tone still sharper than before. “Some of my friends are in there.” He thought of Fred, Percy and George, who had headed down to the Great Hall minutes before they had. “I’m not going to sit by and let them die! I’m not going to sit by and let  _ anybody  _ die.”

This was something he wasn’t willing to budge on. He didn’t care what Diyoza said — he was getting to the Great Hall, and he was going to fight.

“I’m not asking you to,” she insisted. She blew out a long breath. “We don’t have time to waste. Longbottom sent me in here to bring any stragglers out to the courtyard. We’re being overwhelmed. We need more wands  _ there.” _

“No,” he snapped. “The Great Hall is filled with innocent people! You expect me to just  _ leave  _ them to die!? Fuck no!”

Diyoza’s eyes narrowed at him.  _ “Think,  _ Blake! We lose the courtyard, we lose the castle, we lose this war — it’s as easy as that. I hate to say it, but we can  _ afford  _ to lose whoever is in the Great Hall — they’re already out of the battle anyways. We  _ cannot  _ afford to lose that courtyard, or a fucking  _ mass  _ of Death Eaters will infiltrate the castle. We barely have enough wands out there to handle it as is, as Voldemort seems to be sending more and more troops.” Her jaw locked. “You think there’s a lot of Death Eaters here now? Those in the courtyard are the only thing standing between us and destruction.”

“I can’t let innocent people die!” he snapped. 

It felt like he was being torn apart.

He knew Diyoza was right —  _ he knew.  _ Every ounce of logic he had was telling him to listen to her — to follow her plan. What was the point of saving a few in the Great Hall when they’d all be dead by morning anyways?

But his heart  _ — his fucking heart —  _ was telling him to screw it all and charge into the Great Hall, to throw himself into the battle raging there, to protect the innocent and the injured and the grieving. It wouldn’t win them the war, but he knew, without him going down there, everyone in the Great Hall would die.

A large shout rang out from around the bend — from the Great Hall.

_ Time was running out, regardless of what he chose. _

“Blake,” Diyoza said, her voice warning. “Use your goddamn mind here. You know what’s right.”

_ Use your mind. _

What would Clarke do?

He didn’t have to think about it long. She’d hate every second of it, but she’d go help in the courtyard, where she could save more people. It was the logical choice — it was the choice that would help ensure more people would survive. She’d carry the guilt and remorse of her decision for the rest of her life, but he knew.

_ He knew. _

“Fuck,” he grit out. He hated it. He hated the guilt that filled him. He hated the way his heart ached. He hated that he was abandoning his people. “Those people will die because of me.”

She regarded him in a similar way when she was teaching him a new spell. Her eyes were stormy and jaw set, but he could  _ feel  _ the care she had. “None of this is your fault. Remember that.”

He swallowed thickly. Those words hit too close to home, especially with two of his closest friends dead.

“One condition,” he said.

“For fuck sake, Blake.”

“Either you stay here and fight at the Great Hall, or I am. Longbottom will get the wands he needs, but  _ the people in the Great Hall need to be safe.” _

Diyoza glared. “I’m  _ not  _ going to the Great Hall — not when—”

He didn’t hesitate. “Either I stay or you stay. What’s it going to be?”

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

She could barely stand.

Clarke was so exhausted that she was nearly seeing double. Even with the adrenaline pumping through her system, she was growing tired and slow. Her movements were sluggish. Her shield work was sloppy.

The only thing keeping her upright was her sheer desperation.

She stood between Fred and Murphy as they fought against the onslaught of Death Eaters. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen and a half Death Eaters, but it felt like an army of hundreds. It was clear they were fresh troops — their black robes were immaculate.

_ They weren’t though.  _ It was nearing four in the morning; the battle had been raging since midnight. Some people, like Fred and his family, had been fighting since the start of the battle, while she’d only been fighting for the last few hours, after escaping from the dungeons.

Clarke originally assumed it would only be her small group of Slytherins defending the Great Hall — just the four of them against the masses.  _ She was wrong.  _ As soon as the battle broke out, the family members of the injured and the dead stood alongside them, protecting those too injured to hold a wand. 

“Nice, Gin!” Ginny Weasley’s spell blew out the nearest window, the force of the explosion sending a handful of Death Eaters through the closest window.

Clarke barely had enough strength to look up from her own battles. For the longest time, it was just her, and her wand, and the magic pouring out of her system. She fell into a quick rhythm of casting shields and throwing curses.

_ It wasn’t enough. _

They were losing.

She wasn’t sure how long they had been battling, but they were losing ground every few seconds. Every step backwards they took, the more Death Eaters poured into the hall, and the more they struggled.

It was a vicious cycle — one that was quickly becoming too much.

It was when the back of her shoe connected with the closest stretcher of an injured person that she became desperate.

Her heart was pounding furiously. Her hair was drenched with sweat. Desperation, and fear, and  _ anger  _ filled her.

_ They weren’t going to fail. _

_ They couldn’t. _

Clarke didn’t know exactly what happened — just that  _ she  _ was the cause of it. Her mind hummed blankly as she whipped her wand forward. Her walls had fallen as her desperation mounted, and the full-force of her emotions ripped through her.

The resulting  _ boom  _ was so forceful that it knocked over all the Death Eaters in the Great Hall, sending them flying into the nearest walls or skidding across the floor. Clarke watched in a mixture of satisfaction and horror as their heads snapped back from the force of the impact and as rocks clattered onto their unconscious bodies. 

They didn’t get back up immediately; most not at all. 

It was only after she saw  _ just how many Death Eaters she had killed with the single spell  _ did she realize what type of magic she was drawing on.

_ Dark magic. _

It didn’t scare her as much as it should have. It was easy to feel strong from it — a direct funnel from her emotions to her magic. That strength — that  _ power  _ — was easy to get lost in.

_ It served its purpose though. _

Clarke fell backwards, her vision going black, and the tides changed; the Death Eaters knocked back by her spell gave them the upper hand.

When the world stopped spinning, Clarke was sure she had died. Warm and familiar hands were pressed against her forehead and cheek, coaxing her awake. Slowly, the fingers pressed against her neck to check her pulse, the swept hair away from her eyes, each touch tender and careful.

Her head throbbed as the occupants of the Great Hall were cheering loudly, as if this insignificant battle had won them the war. 

Clarke forced her eyes open. The face inches away from her made her heart stop. “Diyoza!?”

Briefly, she thought she was hallucinating, but she doubted she’d be able to imagine her mentor this bloodstained and exhausted. Both her and Murphy were crouched in front of her, concerned and bloody and  _ alive. _

“There she is,” Diyoza greeted. She reached forward and helped bring Clarke into a sitting position. “John thought you were dead.”

Murphy scowled at her.  _ “Yeah,  _ because she did some fucking insane spell that I’ve never even  _ heard  _ of and she passed out! Of course I thought she fucking died.”

Clarke grasped Diyoza’s forearm tightly, her eyes wide. Her mind was as sluggish as the rest of her body and refused to catch up.

“Wh— What? You’re here?” She blinked. “Have you always been here? Did I hit my head hard? Because what the fuck?”

“There’s the Griffin charm,” Diyoza said. She glanced over her shoulder before settling her gaze on her again. “I arrived just as you were passing out. Are you okay? Anything hurt?”

“Everything. Everything hurts.”

“And  _ this  _ is why I prefer Slytherins over Gryffindors,” she commented dryly. “Gryffindors just say ‘I’m fine,’ even though they’re gushing blood from their head.” Diyoza quickly examined her. “I’m not seeing anything major.”

“I’m exhausted. That’s all.”

Diyoza simply lifted her eyebrows. “I’d imagine so. What the fuck was that?”

Truth was, Clarke wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was  _ angry  _ and  _ desperate  _ and things spiralled out of control from there.

“Clarke’s a superhero now,” Murphy told her enthusiastically. “You know the Phoenixes?” He lowered his voice. “That’s us! Plus, she attacks Death Eaters with flaming torches and somehow manages to break out of a locked cell without a wand.”

_ That  _ shocked Diyoza. “Wandless magic? You’ve been doing wandless magic?”

“I didn’t really have a choice. It was either I get the cell unlocked or I let Murphy betray everyone I love.” 

He dismissed Diyoza before she could question him. “Long story.”

“Regardless, that wasn’t wandless magic,” Diyoza said, referring to the blast that had knocked her out. “You had your wand.” She studied Clarke for a long minute, her expression arranging itself neatly. Recognition lit her eyes. “Dark magic.”

Murphy snorted. “Right, there’s that too. She accidentally burnt down a building in Knockturn Alley last week.”

If Clarke wasn’t so uncomfortable, she would’ve snapped at Murphy. It wasn’t something she wanted to be reminded of — it wasn’t something she was proud of. She was supposed to be  _ good  _ — she was supposed to be  _ better and above  _ the Death Eaters, yet here she was, dipping into the dark arts to get what she wanted.

Maybe it was because she was so emotionally worn, but she teared up at that. “Fuck. I’m such a hypocrite.” She sniffed. “I know it’s wrong and I shouldn't do it, but it’s so  _ easy  _ at times, and comes before I can really think about it and—”

“You’re apologizing?” Diyoza questioned, clearly confused. “Listen, Griffin… People might think you’re a hypocrite, sure, but guess what? They have the luxury of thinking that because you just saved their asses! Was it with dark magic? Maybe. But who gives a fuck when it gets the job done.” She sighed. “No magic is inherently dark or light — it's how you  _ use  _ it that matters. You’re using it for good — clearly. You just blew a  _ lot  _ of Death Eaters on their asses with a single spell.  _ Don’t be sorry.”  _ She studied her. “Just… maybe don’t do it again today, alright? It looks like you’re a sneeze away from passing out for the next week.”

Clarke rubbed her forehead and sighed. It  _ felt like  _ she was a sneeze away from passing out. Her head throbbed. She felt drained of energy and magic. Her whole body ached and she was so emotionally exhausted that she wasn’t sure how much more she could take today.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice muffled by her hands. 

She hoped the lack of Death Eaters in the Great Hall meant it was over. All she wanted was to find Bellamy and kiss him until she fell asleep. All she wanted to do was make sure he was okay.

Diyoza pulled away from her, straightening. “No, it isn’t over. A few Death Eaters got away. They’ll be back.”

Clarke let her eyes slide shut. There was no harm in closing her eyes for a few seconds, was there?

“Damn, never thought I’d say it, but you look worse than Blake.”

_ That  _ got her attention.

Her eyes bolted open and she flew to her feet, only swaying the slightest bit. Murphy’s hand darted out to hover a few inches away from her arm, waiting for her to tip over.

“Bellamy?” Clarke pressed. “You saw Bellamy!?”

Because, the truth was, despite trying to keep him off her mind, she hadn’t been able to. The battle was a good distraction — she barely had time to think of anything else. It was hard to pretend she wasn’t out of her mind with worry; the last time she saw him was hours ago, and so much had happened since. 

She was terrified to think that he could be one of the dead bodies lying around the castle. She was even more terrified to think that there were Death Eaters out there looking specifically for him.

_ Her mother was looking for him. _

Diyoza’s response prevented her from spiralling. “He’s fine, Clarke.” Her heart flew into her throat. Her stomach flipped excitedly. This emotion — this overwhelming feeling of hope — was so fresh and new; it was a welcome change compared to the dread and fear she’d been carrying for hours. “I saw him a few minutes ago, just—”

She never got to finish her sentence.

Clarke had been so absorbed with hearing what she had to say that her sense of the world around her had dimmed; she let herself get distracted by the hope burning brightly in her, and she completely missed the man in a black robe that rounded the corner.

_ She saw him too late. _

A green spell was already flying towards her. Clarke’s body froze in horror — unable to move, unable to scream — as the Killing Curse flew straight at her chest.

_ Except,  _ it wasn’t at her chest.

_ It was at Diyoza’s back. _

Clarke watched in horror as her mentor was hit from behind by the Killing Curse. She couldn’t look away as Diyoza’s eyes widened in unmistakable horror and her body tensed, nor could she look away as the light drained from her eyes, her expression growing slack. The world grew silent as her knees buckled under her and she fell to the floor—

—dead.

_ Diyoza was dead. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full credit goes out to madi (@bvllcmy on Twitter) for the idea to make Murphy's Patronus a raven. She tweeted this at me and LET ME TELL YOU. I wrote that scene on the bridge specifically because of that comment. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	42. Chapter 41: Light in the Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i extended this fic by one chapter again. sorry!

**_BELLAMY_ **

_ May 2, 1998 _

He understood why Diyoza sent him and Octavia to the courtyard.

He almost wished that she hadn’t, just because of how much of a disaster it was.

It wasn’t just Death Eaters out there — it was all sorts of magical creatures. The Forbidden Forest seemingly emptied itself for the night, flooding Hogwarts with things he only ever imagined in nightmares. Giant spiders, giants with clubs, Dementors, creatures he didn’t even know the names of — they all rained hell on the castle he grew up in.

Bellamy and Octavia stuck close together as they moved around the courtyard, attempting to help wherever they could. They quickly fell into a pattern, similar to one that Bellamy had with Clarke; she shielded while he took the offensive. And, when he grew tired and felt winded, they traded.

_ Back and forth, back and forth. _

Death Eaters and Order members were falling alike. The ground was soaked in blood. The yard was littered with bodies. He tried not to think of it and tried not to step in it, focusing solely on the approaching Death Eaters and creatures.

It was when he felt a chill descend over him that he paused in his offensive barrage. He glanced to the sky and spotted several dark cloaks billowing above. He heard them, too, loud and raspy, their mouths hungry for souls.

It was a memory of Clarke that Bellamy used to fight off the Dementors. He couldn’t recall a time where he struggled so much with the charm — he needed three goes at it for his Patronus to burst to life.  _ His soul just felt heavy with death and with exhaustion. _

But finally —  _ finally —  _ he latched onto a memory of Clarke in front of him, her smile wide and genuine, laughing and dancing as the snow fell around them. It was a blissful moment from their time on the run together — something that was a far cry from the mayhem he was in the middle of now.

_ When had things become so complicated? _

He heard Clarke’s laugh, as crisp as ever, and  _ that  _ was what caused his Patronus to come to life. The silvery animal appeared several feet in front of him, the Labrador Retriever circling high into the sky to chase the dark creatures off. The dog took off in a full-tilt sprint, its teeth bared, and—

“Is that yours!?” Octavia gasped.

Bellamy took a closer look at his Patronus, which resulted in him  _ losing  _ his hold on the spell. Right before the animal completely returned to thin air, he caught sight of it and—

_ That wasn’t his Labrador Retriever. _

It was a dog of sorts, for sure, there was no doubt in his mind. It was an animal on four paws and a long tail, but it wasn’t the familiar shape of the dog he had seen so many times before.

“You never told me it changed!” 

They both dove out of the way of a spell, his arms coming up to shield the back of his head as debris rained down on them. His breath came out in gasps, still fogging the slightest bit from the leftover chill.

Across the courtyard, a giant let out an ear-piercing yell, his eyes locked on their crouched forms. Bellamy could see exactly where this was going and grabbed Octavia’s hand, dragging her towards the covered walkway and out of sight. As they raced for cover, Bellamy glanced over his shoulder, desperately hoping the giant wasn’t charging them like he predicted.

Luck seemed to be on their side for once. The giant had grown distracted by several people circling the courtyard on brooms and made a slow lunge for one.

They burst out from the courtyard and into the covered walkway. Bellamy gasped for breath and glanced down at his arm, where a piece of shrapnel had impaled itself into the muscle.

It didn’t hurt and it wasn’t bleeding, so he made no move to tug it out. He silently thanked Diyoza in that moment — something he had been doing a lot recently — for forcing them to learn the basics of Muggle first-aid. 

Octavia stood beside him, her hands on her knees and bent over at the waist, gasping for air. Her face was dripping with sweat — he was sure his was too — and they both could use some water. He didn’t remember the last time he had a second to breathe, never mind find something to drink.

He elbowed Octavia and gestured for her to cup her hands. After she complied, he conjured some water. She drank greedily.

It was when she was returning the favour to him that a third person joined.

“Blake! Bellamy? Oh thank Merlin, it’s actually you.” Angelina crashed into his back, sending the water spilling from his hands. “You’re alive! Fucking hell, we’ve been so worried about you.”

Bellamy turned fully and embraced her — fuck drinking water. He expected to see the others from the second Potterwatch team — Raven, Lee, and Alicia, but  _ he didn’t.  _ Over her shoulder stood Katie Bell, George’s girlfriend. The two Gryffindors looked battered and bruised, but they were alive. 

_ That was more than his team. _

Angelina pulled back, her eyes darting around the covered walkway. When she didn’t spot anyone else from his team, he could see her face go slack with horror. Instantly, he knew she was thinking of Fred.

(Yet, all  _ he  _ could think about was George.)

“What happened?” They locked eyes. “The others?”

He was seconds away from getting sick. Sure, he cared about George, but  _ those  _ were his best friends. When his gaze came to rest on Katie, his knees almost buckled.

_ That was his girlfriend. _

Bellamy thought back to the conversation they had on the porch of one of the safe houses, when the rest of the house had gone to bed and the darkness gave them bravery to say things they kept locked away. Bellamy talked about how he mourned for Clarke; George talked about how he worried for Katie. They both shared stories about the women they loved, and—

_ Now he was gone. _

And there she was, alive and well, hope burning so bright in his eyes that it made him feel guilty. There was something else too, something that hurt more than his previous thoughts.

_ That could be him. _

He could be  _ exactly  _ like Katie, and he wouldn’t know it. There she stood, so happy and oblivious, completely unaware that the love of her life was currently dead in the Great Hall.

_ That. Could. Be. Him. _

Maybe it was selfish to think of himself in that moment, but he didn’t care. Clarke had been on his mind for hours now, and this was the breaking point. She could be dead and he could not know it — and it was  _ terrifying. _

While he spiralled, Octavia stepped up to answer them. “We’re on our own,” she said, not telling them the truth, but not lying either. “The rest should be in the Great Hall.”

The relief was evident on both their expressions. That heightened his guilt more.

_ They should tell them. _

The words stuck in his throat.

Before he could figure out what to say, there was a loud roar several feet behind them. The air exploded with debris and dust, most of which were stopped by a well-placed shield from Angelina. As pieces of the walkway roof were torn down, he spotted their assailant.

_ The giant. _

“Run!”

They sprinted into the night.

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

She stood in front of Murphy, blocking assault after assault, but she wasn’t sure how long she could keep it up for. Her shoulder burned. Her vision blurred. Her spells were weak and misplaced; barely keeping both of them alive.

Murphy screamed in pure anguish. Clarke couldn’t stop to glance behind her, but she knew what he was doing. He was kneeling on the ground, Diyoza’s dead body on his lap, his hands pounding on her chest.

His screams were chilling. They made a wave of nausea wash through her. Her blood felt like poison in her veins.

The second wave was worse than the first. She didn’t know if it was because they were so unprepared for the attack — they were foolish to not be ready — or maybe it was because she was already so exhausted — or maybe it was because she just watched Diyoza die in front of her and now she was overwhelmed by the screaming of her best friend.

_ It was as though all of her previous luck was running out. _

Diyoza was dead. Murphy was sobbing. Clarke was struggling to stay upright. She couldn’t tell where anyone else was — not Monroe, not Sterling, not Fred.

It was just her—

—and Murphy’s screams—

—and black cloaks—

—and silver masks—

—and—

_ “You have fought valiantly.” _

The battle around her came to a crashing halt. 

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

He flinched and recoiled as the haunting voice of Voldemort ripped through his mind.

Bellamy grit his teeth and dove to one knee, narrowly avoiding a stray cutting charm headed in his direction.

_ “Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. You have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one.” _

Bellamy’s eyes scanned the battlefield now that the fighting had paused. It was  _ awkward  _ as fuck — everyone was staring at each other, not really sure what to do next. Death Eaters stood opposite to Order members, but nobody lunged forward with attacks.

_ “I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.” _

His eyes continued to scan the battlefield until—

_ He saw her. _

Bellamy’s heart dropped directly to his feet. The world tipped sideways, as if it had been ripped out from underneath him.

Griffin.

_ “Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.” _

This was the first time he saw the legendary Death Eater in person. He’d seen her in the newspapers before and had seen her in passing, but it wasn’t like this. 

_ It was never like this.  _

From across the battlefield, their eyes locked. It was a horrifying beat later that Bellamy realized  _ she was staring straight at him —  _ her eyes dark and filled with hatred.

Abby Griffin — a terrifying Death Eater, a woman in Voldemort’s inner circle, the mother of the woman he loved — was  _ staring at him. _

She was watching him.

_ Just watching. _

The voice against his ear — the voice inside his head — continued to speak, but it felt as though all the air had been sucked from his lungs. A chill ran up his spine.

He pushed himself to his feet and met her glare. 

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

_ “I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences.  _

_ “This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me.  _

_ “One hour.” _

As soon as the voice stopped echoing around her head, Clarke slumped to the ground, landing beside Murphy and Diyoza on all fours. She was faintly aware of the Death Eaters that had surrounded them flee the Great Hall.

The world spun.

She crawled towards Murphy, her hands shaking and her stomach rolling. He ripped his arm away from her grasp. His eyes set on hers, wild and vengeful, and—

“Diyoza,” he said, his voice thick and shaking. “Diyoza’s gone.”

Clarke’s face screwed up as grief enveloped her. Her chest felt like it was caving in around her shattered heart. Her tight throat made it nearly impossible to speak.

“I know.”

Murphy doubled over as his sobs ripped through him.

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

The moment that followed stretched for an eternity.

Him and Griffin stared at each other across the battlefield. Chaos raged between them. Death Eaters fled the courtyard in puffs of black smoke. Order members began their retreat towards the Great Hall. Octavia tugged on his shoulder.

_ Yet, he couldn’t look away. _

And, when her lips curled into a smile, he felt his body go cold.

_ Then, she was gone. _

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

It was Luna Lovegood who came over to shut Diyoza’s eyes.

Clarke wasn’t too sure how long it had been since the ceasefire had been called. In some ways, it felt like no time had passed at all — the image of Diyoza’s face growing slack and her knees buckling was still fresh in her mind — yet, in other ways, it felt like it had been an eternity.

Murphy clutched Diyoza with everything he had, sobbing and sobbing and  _ sobbing.  _ Clarke would never pretend to understand how close he was to her. She was the first person to accept him and to show him there was another way to live life. She helped guide him away from the darkness his family had pulled him towards — helped him build another path to walk down.

In some ways, Diyoza was what McGonagall was to her.

She didn’t pay attention to the words Lovegood said as she moved Diyoza’s body. All she could hear were Murphy’s heartbreaking sobs and pleas. All she could see was McGonagall at the head of the Great Hall, moving between the injured.

Her grief vanished and her resolve strengthened. Murphy continued to sob over Diyoza’s corpse, but it felt like she was a million miles away.

_ McGonagall betrayed her. _

Maybe this was misplaced anger, she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure if she even cared. It was relieving, in a way, to feel the white-hot fury course through her again, instead of the suffocating grief.

Clarke barely registered standing and moving across the Great Hall. Her hands were curled so tightly that her nails dug into the flesh of her palms. Her heart pounded, eerily washing away the noise of those around her. 

It was when she was walking up towards the head table that McGonagall noticed her. She paused, a potion lifted partway to another professor’s hands, and her eyes grew wide.

“Miss Griffin!?”

Clarke clung tightly to her anger. She wasn’t going to break down into tears this time — not like what happened when she confronted Murphy in the halls. She was  _ angry, so fucking angry —  _ and she wasn’t going to let her hurt betray that.

“You’re a liar,” Clarke spat, her voice hot and firm. McGonagall’s eyes grew wide. “I believed you when you said you thought I was a good person. I believed you when you said you didn’t care of the colours on my robes, or the last name I was born with, or  _ anything.  _ I  _ believed  _ you.”

“And I still believe it,” McGonagall promised her. She passed the potion to the wizard and took a few steps towards her. “You’re upset. Are you hurt?”

Clarke’s lip trembled. Her anger was quickly turning wet. She couldn’t stop the tears from filling her eyes. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she accused. “You’re just like the rest of them; you just see the colours on our robes. You look at me and see my mother, just like you look at Murphy and see his father.” Her lips curled. “You’re no different than Dumbledore or any of the other dickbags here.”

McGonagall bristled at that. “I understand you’re upset, Miss Griffin, but  _ please,  _ watch your language.”

_ “Fuck you  _ — how’s that for language?” Before McGonagall could respond, Clarke was speaking again. “You locked us up —  _ all of us.  _ Some of them deserved it — Merlin only knows Dax and Ontari are  _ waiting  _ to get ink on their arms — but not every Slytherin is a Death Eater. The only reason the Great Hall is still standing is because Monroe, Sterling, Murphy and I were here.” She snorted. “Josephine was right — no matter what we do, we’ll always be your villains.”

“Miss Griffin—”

“I hope history remembers that it was the  _ Slytherin house  _ which stood between the defenceless and Voldemort’s forces,” she bit out. “Not Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw, not Hufflepuff —  _ Slytherin.” _

“Clarke—”

“We’re on your side,” Clarke said, her voice turning desperate. Why couldn’t people see? “It’s already shitty enough that we have to  _ prove  _ our loyalty when nobody else does! People only trust us because they trust our connections — they see me and they trust me because Bellamy said I’m good.  _ I’m sick of it.  _ I can be a decent fucking person on my own — with or without Bellamy.”

“Clarke, I’m sorry.” McGonagall took a step towards her. She looked genuine — genuine and exhausted and desperate. “Things got out of hand quickly, but if you’d let me explain—”

“No.” She took a few steps backwards. She said what she needed to say. While she was still angry, she knew she couldn’t do anything more. “No, I don’t want an explanation. I want  _ change.  _ Alright? And I want to fight in this war without worrying I’m going to get shot in the back by people who I’m trying to protect.  _ That’s  _ how you can make it up to me; tell people that there are Slytherins on Potter’s side and tell them not to shoot at us.”

“And which Slytherins are that?” It wasn’t McGonagall who spoke, but the newest potions professor. His maroon robes were covered in soot and he looked just as exhausted as McGonagall. 

Clarke pursed her lips and turned to her former head of house. “The only ones I know are me, John Murphy, Daphne Greengrass, Zoe Monroe, and Sterling—”

“Ah, yes. Poor Sterling and Monroe.” Clarke’s heart froze in her chest and her words stuck in her throat. Slughorn looked impassive at her silence. “Didn’t you know, dear? They’re dead.”

She gripped her wand tighter to keep her hands from shaking. Her stomach had plummeted directly to her feet.

While they weren't close and she was not on the best terms with them, she grew up with them and they were her people. 

_ They were her people. _

“Mr. Malfoy is here too,” Slughorn said. McGonagall simply pursed her lips. “He claims that he wants no part in the war, that he isn’t here to fight. He’s asking for shelter.”

“Well… As long as he isn’t hurting anyone, we won’t turn him away.”

Draco Malfoy was a bigger cockroach than her and Murphy were — he bent to the will of his Dark Lord, yet now cowered behind the legs of the Order. She didn’t trust him — she wouldn’t trust him, not after what she heard about him in the summer while she was trapped in Griffin Manor.

“Charmaine is at Hogwarts as well,” McGonagall supplied to Slughorn.

That made her stomach twist even more. For a brief moment, it all felt like too much. Pain radiated from her chest — where she was almost certain she’d been hit with shrapnel, it hurt so much — all the way to the tips of her fingers. 

It made her want to cry out — and scream — and double over — and fall to pieces — and—

_ Nothing. _

Survive.

_ She had to survive,  _ and the only way she knew how to do that was to surround herself with this  _ numbness.  _

Later. 

She’d deal with the pain later.

“She’s dead.” Clarke’s voice sounded empty even to her. McGonagall drew in a sharp breath, her eyes wide. “Murphy’s— Murphy’s with her now.”

“Mm. Too bad. She was a good potion’s student when she was here, I recall.” Slughorn wiped sweat from his forehead. “Ah, well.”

Clarke’s eyes flashed. She saw red. She welcomed the anger. “Oh well? Right. Because her parents weren’t anyone special, it’s just ‘oh well.’ But, if it was anyone you actually  _ cared  _ about and could  _ use,  _ it would be something else.”

“Miss Griffin!”

She didn’t regret what she said. Was it rude and petty? Maybe. But she was sick of this — she was sick of this war, she was sick of fighting, she was sick of  _ everything. _

She just wanted to go  _ home— _

She wanted to go home to  _ Bellamy. _

She was wasting time arguing with McGonagall and Slughorn. She was wasting time grieving. She needed to be out there, looking for him. She needed to be doing something productive or, Merlin help her, the numbness and her resolve were going to come crumbling down.

“Tell your Order, McGonagall; there are a few Slytherins here to help,” Clarke demanded, already stepping away from the duo. “If I hear of any Slytherin being locked up or shot down by anyone on Potter’s side, you’ll have me to deal with after this is over. That’s a promise.”

With that, she turned and began her trek across the Great Hall.

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

“It’ll be okay,” he promised, his hands shaking. 

His pants were soaked in blood from where he kneeled into the damp grass. His stomach twisted horribly as he examined the mangled body of a younger student — a Hufflepuff, if he remembered correctly.

All of his words were empty — the promises that it would be alright, the soothing whispers, the assurances that someone would be coming to help him.

The reality was that nobody was coming. Nobody knew where they were, nobody knew that Atom was dying, and nobody could help.

_ Nobody could help. _

Bellamy’s hands hovered a few inches over Atom’s body, unsure what to do. It looked as though he was burned by something — a spell, maybe? It didn’t matter, not anymore. He was gasping and sobbing and withering in pain.

He was dying.

_ He was dying and he couldn’t do anything. _

He already tried the basic healing spells, but there was no unharmed flesh to stitch together. He wasn’t a healer — not by a long shot — and there was nothing he could do to help him.

All he could do was lie.

Bellamy glanced up helplessly, scanning the horizon for someone to help. Octavia was several meters away, attending to another injured person on the field, and their eyes met. She looked just as helpless as he felt.

_ They couldn’t do anything to save them. _

“Please. Please, please, pl—please.”

Over and over, Atom sobbed and begged and  _ pleaded.  _

_ Over and over, Bellamy lied. _

“It’s okay,” he promised him, his voice wavering. “It’s okay. Someone’s coming. Someone’ll be here soon and they’ll help, alright?”

Atom’s wet hand curled around his. His grip was as strong as iron, as if he poured all his remaining strength into the simple touch. Bellamy locked his jaw and squeezed back, hoping the simple action would provide comfort.

“Please.  _ Please.” _

“I know,” he breathed. “I know.”

_ He didn’t know. _

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

She wasn’t sure how long it had been since the ceasefire had been called — it couldn’t have been more than a quarter hour. In the time that it had taken her to snap at her professors, though, the room had begun to fill with more and more people.

There was a single line down the centre of the Great Hall — the line for the dead. While there had been a few dozen dead before the ceasefire was called, more faces had been added to the growing line. Clarke held her breath and scanned them, hoping with everything in her that she wouldn’t see Bellamy or Raven in the fallen.

She knew she should’ve felt sick, but she barely reacted. Clarke felt distant from her whole body, as if she was in a dream. Maybe this was all it was — a nightmare that she could wake up from.

After running her gaze along the dead and not spotting either of them, she turned her sights on the rest of the Great Hall. Wizards and witches were flowing in steadily — each one sporting at least a single visible injury. They were caked in blood and dirt, just as she was. Scattered through the room were those too injured to stand and stay conscious. Madam Pomfrey moved between each person, administering potions and casting charms.

_ Bellamy. _

_ Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy. _

She needed to find him.

Panic was rising in her — higher and higher like a rising tide. The more faces that weren’t his, the more terrified she became.

_ Where was he? _

She kept scanning the crowd, looking for any of his features. Her heart hammered in her chest. Hope made butterflies rise in her stomach. As the seconds ticked by, she grew more worried and more desperate.

In the row of dead, the Weasley family rested, all surrounding who Clarke now knew to be George Weasley. She was shocked to see Ron and Granger amongst his family, but there was no sign of Potter.

She was tempted to go over to them and ask about Bellamy, but she didn’t. They were grieving; they clung to each other as they sobbed, they found comfort in each other’s presence. She already felt like she was invading too much by just  _ looking  _ in their direction — she didn’t want to trespass further.

There were few options.

He could be busy out in the field. From what she could tell, uninjured people were streaming in and out of the Great Hall with the injured and the dead. He could be out there, helping look for bodies.

Or. He was one of the bodies people were collecting.

She imagined that the hands wrapped around her chest in that moment were similar to those of Dementors — long, and bony, and cold. It sure as hell  _ felt  _ like a Dementor was residing in her chest, slowly sucking her soul from her body, leaving behind an unshakable chill in her bones.

_ Fuck. _

He wasn’t in the Great Hall.

Bellamy wasn’t here.

_ He could be dead. _

_ He could be dying. _

This was it, Clarke decided.

This was how she was going to die.

Terror and dread were going to kill her. 

She had managed to survive her soul nearly being ripped from her body; she’d managed to perform wandless magic to break out of an impenetrable cell; she busted her hands by attacking a group of Death Eaters; and she managed to be one of the few left standing after an attempted slaughter of the Great Hall —  _ she had done all of that,  _ yet this was what was going to finally kill her.

She couldn’t lose him.  _ She couldn’t. _

There was still so much she wanted to do — so much she wanted to do  _ with him.  _ Clarke thought back to all their promises and all their sweet words. They wanted to work together for a better future — she wanted a future with  _ him  _ beside her. 

Clarke’s hands clenched at her sides. Her throat closed in around itself. She was so exhausted and so worn that she barely registered the tears streaming down her cheeks.

_ What was the point?  _

What was the point of all of this if he wasn’t in her future? What was the point of fighting with him, and hating him, and  _ loving him  _ if it all ended like this? 

She was better for loving him — she knew — but she couldn’t stand the fact that this could be the end.

_ It couldn’t be the end.  _ This battle was a mere chapter, not a full story. It couldn’t end like this, not when they had a future planned together, not when there was still so much time left in the world.

She thought of the promise in the bedroom, with his lips against her temple, and her hand over his heart, and whispers of getting married after this whole fucking war was over.

She thought of their talk in the bathroom, with toothpaste across their mouths, and her heart in her throat, as they talked about children, and a better future, and the hope they both had for the next generation.

Her gaze snapped to the front of the Great Hall when she heard a familiar voice. Lee Jordan and Alicia Spinnet were both hobbling into the hall, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists in hopes of keeping themselves upright.

Before she could question herself, she was jogging across the Great Hall, weaving between people, her gaze never leaving the duo. She was part way across the hall when Lee looked up and caught her gaze.

“Clarke,” he greeted. Alicia smiled kindly beside him, which only agitated her split lip further.

“Hi.” She came to stand in front of both of them, not quite sure how to act. It was  _ weird  _ to be on first-name basis with the Potterwatch crew despite never having spoken to them before. It was a sharp reminder of Bellamy and his heart and his love and— “Have you seen Bellamy?” 

Clarke almost regretted how blunt she was being, considering they were both clearly in pain and injured, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Her mind was swimming with thoughts of him — both good and bad, hopeful and terrified.

She was going to find him, no matter what. The world could get ripped down around her, but she wouldn’t care — she wasn’t going to pause in her search.

_ Clarke was going to find Bellamy, and she was never going to let him go again. _

“Not for a few hours,” Lee admitted. He winced and adjusted his grip on Alicia.

“When? Where? How long ago?”

“We arrived together,” Alicia provided. She swiped the back of her hand against her chin, whisking away fresh blood. 

Clarke set her jaw and stepped forward, her wand clutched tightly in her hands. For a brief moment, Alicia looked terrified when Clarke came at her, but soon relaxed as soon as she realized what Clarke was doing. She cast a hasty healing spell on her face to stitch the broken skin back together.

It was clearly the least of Alicia’s injuries, but it made Clarke feel better, knowing she was doing  _ something. _

Lee picked up where Alicia left off. “Bellamy was with us on Potterwatch—”

“I know,” Clarke said quickly, her gaze never leaving Alicia’s lip. Her concentration wavered. “We listened to your show. It was the only thing that kept me sane.”

He looked pleased at that, a slow smile stretching across his face. The joy only lasted momentarily; an injury of his must’ve flared in pain and he winced.

“Right. Thanks.” He watched Clarke work for a moment before he continued. “Erm, yeah. We all came together — me, Alicia, Angie, George, Fred, Bellamy and Raven.” It took everything in Clarke’s power to keep her wand steady. “Bellamy separated from the group early to help the younger students, so I haven’t seen him since we first got to the castle.”

Her heart fell.

_ Fuck. Of fucking course.  _ It looked as though the only person to see him recently was Diyoza, and now she was dead.

It made her want to cry.

She was already composing a plan to search the castle when Lee next spoke.

“You’re friends with Raven, too, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Right, well, we saw her more recently. When was that, Alicia?”

“Probably an hour ago?”

Lee nodded. “We were out by the greenhouses. The Forbidden Forest emptied itself for the battle. We split from Angelina and Katie when we realized what was happening — they were to go seal the rest of the secret passages, while we were to take the far side of the castle and protect it from the dark creatures.”

“Raven was with you then?” Clarke pressed, her heart hammering in her chest. While her mind screamed for Bellamy, this was something. Raven was still her family, and she knew Murphy was worried sick about her. 

“She was. She got roped into transporting some plants from herbology to the front courtyard though — Devil’s Snare and Mandrakes. We never saw her again.”

Her fingers turned to ice. It was hard to swallow, never mind speak.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Alicia said, although they all knew her words were empty. “She’s smart.”

Clarke felt like she was falling. She wasn’t sure what she assumed, but this wasn’t it. She wasn’t prepared for how  _ terrified  _ she was going to be at hearing this news. Bellamy and Raven weren’t together out there.  _ Her family hadn’t stuck together during the battle. _

And, even more terrifying was the fact that Raven was out there  _ alone.  _ Clarke knew Bellamy had Octavia — she saw it for herself in Hogsmeade and heard it from Harper right before the battle.  _ But Raven— _

“Maybe the others saw them,” Alicia suggested. “Angelina and Katie were together, plus Fred and George were with each other too.” She glanced over Clarke’s shoulder. “Speaking of, we need to find them. Good luck.”

Clarke felt numb as they stepped around her and made their way further into the Great Hall. She didn’t need to watch them to know the exact moment they spotted the Weasley family gathered over George — she could hear Alicia’s sharp intake of breath and Lee’s frantic words.

Soon enough, their voices blended into the crowd, and their cries were impossible to distinguish. 

They were a few of the many mourning.

It was in a daze that she walked towards Murphy. He was still kneeling over Diyoza’s body, but he looked eerily silent and emotionless. Almost as if he could sense her eyes on him, he looked up and their eyes locked. They were bloodshot, his face was long with exhaustion—

“Griffin.”

Clarke was once again distracted, this time by someone she was  _ not  _ expecting to see. In hindsight, she  _ should  _ have anticipated him finding her, especially after Slughorn’s words. 

The mere sight of him made her feel unbalanced.

“Malfoy.” 

He looked as rough as the rest of the students in the Great Hall — bloodied face, busted lip, red-rimmed eyes. He looked less haunted than he did the last time she saw him back in the summer, back when his family was serving the Dark Lord and she was trying her hardest to hide from the war.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Mhm.” The silence was heavy and awkward. Clarke lifted a brow. “Do you have something you want to say?”

Malfoy pursed his lips, but didn’t show any sign of emotion. She noted that he was carrying his mother’s wand, not his own, and his sleeve was rolled down to his wrist, hiding the Dark Mark she knew was tattooed underneath.

“Nothing particular comes to mind,” he said. “When’d you leave home?”

“Long before you did, I’m sure.” He didn’t rise to the bait. Disappointing. “Last September. You?”

“Long after you,” he confirmed. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Murphy making his way towards them. Clarke sought comfort in this. Despite having grown up beside Malfoy, she knew who he had become and she knew what he did. While she was all about second chances, there was too much for her to forgive without an explanation.

“I’m surprised you’re not with Pansy,” Clarke commented, thinking of her friend who was most likely awake and screaming near the dungeons now. While the stunner must’ve worn off hours ago, she doubted the Death Eaters they attacked would’ve broken out of the ropes they used.

“Yeah, well. Our group all grew apart, didn’t it?”

It was at this time that Murphy joined them. He wiped his nose on his inner sleeve and stepped to her side. “I guess that’s what happens when some of them choose to follow a sociopath and others don’t.” He looked at her. “Find them?”

“No. But we should go look for them out—”

Malfoy shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped closer to them. “Listen, I know we aren’t exactly  _ friends,  _ but—”

“Yeah, sorry, but we have standards,” Murphy snapped. “Run along, Draco.”

He glared. “It’s fine,  _ John.  _ I wasn’t suggesting we all join hands and braid each other’s hair. I just wanted to tell you that I saw your mother, Clarke. She’s here.” Her heart froze. “So’s your father, John.”

“Our Death Eater parents are here with the other Death Eaters? Can’t say I’m shocked,” Murphy said dryly. 

While he remained nonchalant, Clarke couldn’t stop the hammer of her heart. The confirmation that her mother was here made her feel terrified beyond words. She couldn’t stop thinking of the last time she saw her, only weeks ago in Knockturn Alley, and the way that she said all the right things to push her over the edge.

_ “You don’t want me talking about your blood traitor? Bellamy Blake. A Gryffindor. Born to an Aurora Blake, older brother to Octavia. Come to think of it, I believe that’s the same Octavia as the one causing loads of trouble at Hogwarts. Maybe I should give the castle a visit — help them out. You want me to be a bad guy? Fine. I’ll be a bad guy. I’ll start with Octavia Blake, or maybe Bellamy.”  _

While it was clear she never followed through on her promise to come to Hogwarts and punish Octavia, it was also painstakingly clear that  _ she was now here,  _ and so were the Blakes.

The need to find Bellamy and protect him only grew stronger.

The only way she could ensure he was safe was if she was beside him. The only way she could make sure her mother didn’t hurt him was by facing the Death Eaters shoulder-to-shoulder.

“We should find them,” Clarke told Murphy, her voice growing desperate. “It’s already been twenty minutes, and—”

“Don’t go after your parents,” Malfoy said quickly. “Murphy, your father is—”

“Considering he disowned me, he isn’t my father anymore. Let me say a quick  _ thank Merlin  _ for that.” He frowned. “If you were going to tell me that he’s batshit crazy and hunting me down, I’m aware.”

Malfoy glared. “I’m just trying to help.” He turned to Clarke. “Your mother is looking for you and a few others.” Her blood ran cold. “Be careful.”

“Right.” Not knowing what else to say, she turned to Murphy. “Let’s go.”

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

Bodies were heavy.

_ This was something he never expected to find out. _

Harper had been heavy, Monty had been heavy, and now, as he found out, Atom was heavy, too.

He had the body of Atom slung across his shoulders, while Octavia carried an even younger Gryffindor in from the field. Bellamy locked his jaw and kept his gaze on the crumbling towers of the castle, refusing to look at the carnage they walked through.

He passed too many faces he knew, including kids that he made sure got out of the castle only hours ago. It made him  _ so fucking angry  _ and  _ so fucking distraught  _ that a handful of younger Gryffindors had managed to sneak back into the castle.

_ He had tried to protect them. _

_ He tried and he failed. _

They passed several survivors as they made their way towards the Great Hall. There was Ginny Weasley in the courtyard, crouched over a young girl, whispering comforting words as she wept about not wanting to fight anymore. There was Neville Longbottom, who was cradling a young Gryffindor in his arms. And, as they stepped through the broken doors, they walked past Oliver Wood.

That day, Bellamy found out that dead bodies were heavy, but none of them weighed him down more than his own guilt, and his own remorse, and his own pain.

He held onto hope that one day —  _ one day —  _ he’d forget both of those weights.

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

Clarke was painfully aware of the time ticking by.

Both her and Murphy dashed along the same path they took to get to the Great Hall — up the central staircase, over the walkway connecting the two buildings, back down the stairs towards the dungeons. The world was a blur around her — the survivors carried the fallen; people sobbed as they cleared rubble from friends; Death Eaters moaned in pain, long abandoned by their own.

They didn’t slow.

At first, they stopped at the sight of any survivor, desperate for information. Their questions about Bellamy and Raven were met with resistance and suspicion. It only took them a couple of failed attempts to get information before they stopped.

No matter how much she hated to admit it, Josephine did have a point.  _ Maybe they’d always be outsiders. _

She strengthened her resolve as she ran. Who  _ cared  _ if they were outsiders? She’d rather be an outsider to the Order than a follower to Voldemort. 

They sprinted to Raven’s last known location — the greenhouses. She was breathless when they arrived, but they wasted no time in checking each building. Maybe it was ridiculous, but she checked under each bench, hoping that she was simply playing a trick on them, hoping that she was still here — still alive — still breathing.

With each minute that passed, Murphy grew more agitated. His tone was sharper. His hands wrung together. His mask was slipping — something that he only allowed himself to do in her presence. 

_ He was falling apart. _

The longer they searched, the less time they had.

The longer they searched, the less hope they had.

It was only after they searched all the greenhouses did Clarke really start to feel the claws of panic. More than a half hour must’ve passed at that point, and they weren’t any further to finding Raven or Bellamy.

_ (Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy.) _

“We don’t have time for this,” Clarke bit out, her voice hot and short. She felt sick with worry. For the first time, she was faced with the possibility of not finding them at all — of not getting closure. Her stomach rolled. “Lee said she was going between the greenhouses and the courtyard, right? So, let’s walk that same path. If she’s out here—”  _ dead, or injured, or alive  _ “—then she’ll be somewhere between those two points.” 

Clarke glanced towards the horizon. The sky was turning purple with the approaching sunrise.

_ They were running out of time. _

“Meet back in the Great Hall in fifteen,” Clarke decided.

He scowled. “What happened to ‘let’s stick together so we don’t get shot?’”

“Well, hopefully, they won’t shoot us.” She swallowed back her panic. “We need to split up — there’s too much ground to cover between here and there if we stick together. We need to find them before Voldemort attacks and—”

“Fine. We’ll split up.” Murphy didn’t look happy with the decision. Granted, she wasn’t happy either, but they didn’t have a choice. “See you in fifteen?”

“Fifteen.”

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

The Great Hall was packed full of people — most of them injured — and had a constant stream in and out of the door. Those healthy enough to walk were sent into the castle and ground to scour the area for any of the dead or injured Order members.

There were forty dead so far and twice as many injured in some form. 

According to the clock hanging above the head table, the ceasefire had been called forty minutes ago, which meant they had twenty minutes until the battle restarted. Everyone knew that even if Potter gave himself up, Voldemort would never walk away. 

They would be fighting this battle until it was the last person standing.

_ Forty minutes had passed since the ceasefire started, yet he hadn’t seen Clarke or Raven or Murphy. _

He looked as worried as she felt. He tried to hide it. 

Clearly, he wasn’t good at hiding.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Octavia told him. “They’re probably busy.”

Except, they knew  _ everyone  _ on their side was busy, but they still made time to stop in at the Great Hall. It was the hub for all assignments; they wouldn’t be able to be busy without first stopping here.

Bellamy’s eyes scanned the Great Hall, drinking in all the different faces. He recognized many of the students and staff — he even recognized a few Order members from his previous years at Hogwarts.

When he caught sight of green Hogwarts robes — the only source of green in the whole hall — his blood ran cold and time stood still.

For a brief moment, it became so painstakingly clear what his new Boggart would be.

_ Clarke, bloody and broken and dead — her eyes void of the warmth he loved, her laugh silenced forever, her expression blank and lips blue and— _

It felt like his legs were kicked out of him when he was flooded with relief. The faces of the people wearing green, while covered in blood, were not the faces of Clarke or Murphy.

Despite him knowing that  _ these bodies meant two people were dead,  _ he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything  _ except  _ relief in that moment.

“Here.” Someone came up from behind him and took Atom’s body. Bellamy swallowed thickly and tried to force his brain to work. 

_ Bellamy felt hollow. _

Distant.

Suffocated.

He was far underwater, watching the world flow around him through a rippling surface. He could hear people screaming — he could see people sobbing and crying and—

_ And it felt like nothing was truly registering. _

Fred clung to his brothers as they sobbed over George.

Lee and Alicia kneeled together overtop of two bodies, both clinging to each other as if their hands were the only things keeping them upright. With a jolt, Bellamy realized it was Lupin and Tonks who they were leaning over — his old professor and the Auror.

Both of them — dead.

Tonks — the woman who took him and the Potterwatch crew in, even after the war took so much from her.

Tonks — the woman who gave him Muggle books and sat with him in front of the fireplace to pass the time.

Tonks — the woman who called out for him one night, desperate and excited because she found the final piece of the puzzle surrounding the Phoenixes and Clarke.

Tonks — the woman who put her life on the line until just last week, when she finally left the Auror Department after giving birth to her son.

_ Her son. _

Bellamy swallowed back sobs as he thought of the small baby he held only hours before the battle had started, with Tonks praising him for his knowledge on how to cradle his arms, and Lupin smiling so widely, and him thinking of Octavia, and Clarke and—

_ Fuck. _

The cold anguish crushing his chest pulled him towards painful thoughts.

He thought of the small child left at home only hours ago to promises of his parents' return. He was just like so many others now — an orphan of the war. Bellamy couldn’t help but scan the rest of the corpses lined up in the hall and think of  _ how many children were never going to see their parents again?  _ How many wives and husbands were never going to see their loved ones again?

And, he couldn’t help but think of Clarke. The snake pendant he wore around his neck dug into his palm sharply, yet the pain he felt from that was a welcomed solace from the pain radiating from his chest.

He needed to find her. While so many people had lost their families to this war, he refused to lose his.

_ He refused to lose her. _

He refused to—

Bellamy froze once again, catching sight of one more familiar face in the crowd of the dead.

_ Diyoza. _

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

She found her in the hallway by Muggle Studies.

Clarke had been racing through the main level of the building, her eyes bouncing from object to object, quickly analyzing each lump in hopes of—

_ Well, she wasn’t sure what she hoped for. _

Part of Clarke hoped that she wouldn’t find Raven. After all, if she found her, that meant she was injured or dead. Another part of her hoped that she would find Raven; any answers were better than none.

Only after Clarke spotted a familiar owl Patronus did she realize just how  _ wrong  _ she had been.

_ Maybe ignorance was bliss. _

“Raven!?” 

She grew still as soon as she caught sight of the misty owl, her heart hammering in her chest. Her fingers flexed on her wand and her eyes darted around the room. It was only after she cast a revealing charm that Raven came into view.

She was propped up against a wall, partially blocked by a tapestry, hidden in the darkness. Scratches lined her face, blood pooled down her chin and ran from her nose, her eyes were sunken and bloodshot, her skin was covered in a thin coat of blood.

Despite it all, it was unmistakably Raven Reyes.

“Raven!”

The owl disappeared as she dashed forward. Raven’s eyes followed her movements sharply, despite her slack and distant expression. She looked so far away and so distant from the woman Clarke knew — the usual fire was gone from her eyes, her lips were parted as she gasped for breath, her movements were sluggish.

“Hey,” she mumbled, her voice weak. When she coughed, blood splattered across her lips. Her lips pulled tighter in pain as her movements jostled her body. “Was hoping— was hoping it was you.”

Clarke dropped to her knees. Stones dug into her skin. Glass shifted under foot. The chaos around her — the crackling fires, the distant screaming, the time running steadily through her fingers — it all disappeared.

Suddenly, it was just the two of them.

Clarke took in the damage. Her jumper was soaked in blood, both old and new. The hand she pressed to her jeans came back soaked in blood. She couldn’t tell  _ what  _ was wrong, only that something was  _ very, very wrong. _

She’d been here before, not too long ago, except it was  _ Bellamy  _ who lay dying under her, bleeding uncontrollably. She had cried then, just as she was now — tears running silently down her face as the panic set in.

“What happened?” Clarke pressed. Raven didn’t respond right away.  _ It was terrifying.  _ “Raven, what happened?”

Still, she didn’t respond.

“Raven. Raven, can you hear me?”

“Mhmm.”

_ “What? Happened?” _

Then, her blank gaze shifted. Her hand darted out to latch on to hers. A chill ran up Clarke’s spine from how  _ cold  _ and  _ haunting  _ her grasp was. 

“Rav—”

“I don’t want to die alone,” she croaked. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed thickly. Her eyes grew glassy and unfocused.

“No,” Clarke begged. She lunged forward, her wand clattering to the ground in her rush to seize Raven’s shoulders. Her fingers curled into her shirt, as if her grip alone would be the thing tethering her to earth. “Raven! Raven, don’t—”

“It’s okay,” she said, her lips barely moving. “It’s okay—”

“No!” Clarke’s grip tightened. She searched to catch her eyes, but she seemed so distant — so far away. Even with her eyes open, it felt like she was in a different world. “Don’t do this, Raven! Don’t—”

“John doesn’t want to die alone,” Raven mumbled. The corners of her lips tugged up, as if she was sharing a joke. “Murphy doesn’t—” She coughed again, this one sharper than the last. Clarke didn’t give a damn that her arm was covered in flecks of blood; all she cared about was  _ her.  _ “He doesn’t—”

“Raven, listen to me.  _ Keep fighting.  _ Please, okay? Keep fighting and—”

Her grip loosened.

Clarke’s heart rose to her throat. Her chest constricted.

“Raven!  _ Raven!” _

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

His gaze snapped towards the Great Hall doors every time they opened. He’d instantly be filled with hope and butterflies — the smallest part of him hoping every time the door would click that it would be Clarke.

_ It never was. _

Time ticked by.

He grew more worried.

People came and left.

_ None of them were ever Clarke. _

His eyes swept those coming and going, always looking for her blonde hair. And, when he decided that  _ maybe she transfigured her hair again,  _ he started looking for the slope of her nose, and the brightness of her eyes, and the curve of her cheeks, and—

_ Nothing. _

He was slowly, slowly, slowly—

_ (quickly, quickly, quickly) _

—descending into panic.

His thoughts were suffocating. Octavia had left him long ago to go help around the Great Hall and to help organize the next wave of attack. He was too preoccupied — too worried — too frantic — to even try and stop her.

_ So, he sat. _

_ And waited. _

_ And hoped. _

_ And drowned. _

Bellamy was momentarily distracted when Angelina and Katie walked in. They both carried bodies of the fallen, their faces strained from the effort. He watched as both of their gazes swept the room, their expressions a distant echo to his — hopeful, and terrified, and desperate, and—

They spotted the Weasley family across the room, all huddled around George.

_ Bellamy’s heart split. _

Katie’s face morphed from one of exertion to one of pure horror, and he knew she spotted exactly who was laying on the ground. For a long moment, she stood in the threshold of the Great Hall, her lips parted with shock and her eyes wide.

Then, she collapsed sideways onto Angelina — both girls sobbing together. Angelina held both of them upright as Katie’s legs buckled underneath her from the pure agony that ripped through.

And, once again, Bellamy couldn’t help but think—

_ —that could be him. _

(The more time that passed, the more likely that possibility became.)

He kept looking.

Waiting.

Hoping.

_ His patience was growing thin. _

The more time passed, the more worried he became and the darker his thoughts got.

_ She could be dead. _

Then, slowly, that thought morphed into something worse.

_ She  _ **_was_ ** _ dead. _

Bellamy tried to hide the way his hands shook by pressing them to his legs, but he was terrified. The last person to see Clarke, as far as he knew, was Harper. At that point, hours had already passed since then, and he was well aware just how much could change within that time.

(Harper’s lifeless body in the line of the fallen was a cold and harsh reminder of that.)

He needed to do something. Sitting and waiting was agony. It was giving him too much time to think, too much time to imagine.

Bellamy couldn’t stop imagining Clarke face down in a corridor somewhere, bleeding to death, waiting for someone to find her and help her. He couldn’t stop imagining her dying alone, terrified and broken, as a war raged around her. He couldn’t stop thinking of horrible conclusions to their story.

If she was one of the survivors, she would  _ be here.  _ She wasn’t, which left two options.

_ Dead or injured. _

Many of the dead and injured were already in the Great Hall — after all, an hour had almost passed since the ceasefire, and their time was almost up. She wasn’t part of  _ anyone  _ in the Great Hall — including the hurt, the dying, and the dead.

_ He hated to admit it,  _ but he knew why she wasn’t.

_ People didn’t trust her. They didn’t know she was one of them.  _ It was a horrible and crushing realization — one that Bellamy wished was the fabrication of his imagination, but he knew it as the truth.

People looked at her and saw a Slytherin. They looked at her and saw her last name.  _ They looked at her and saw a monster. _

(He should know — he used to see the same thing when he would look at her all those months ago at Kane’s.)

If any of the survivor’s saw her, they’d leave her to die alone.

_ They’d leave her with the Death Eaters, forgotten, and broken, and crying, and— _

He stood up abruptly, his heart nearly hammering out of his chest.

Bellamy needed to find her.

_ He needed to find Clarke. _

He started towards the Great Hall door, ignoring the fact that the clock counting down until the end of the ceasefire was in its final minutes, ignoring the way that he could feel several sets of eyes on him as he moved, ignoring the way that it felt like he was living his own nightmare.

Before he left the hall, he stopped momentarily, his eyes being drawn towards the only other Slytherin in the Great Hall.

_ Draco Malfoy. _

He was sitting in a corner of the room, his expression long and his skin pale, his eyes locked on several of the fallen. For the briefest moment, he considered begging him for information, as if the fact he and Clarke had a shared past would make him privy to information on her presently.

It was a fleeting thought — one that he squished quickly, knowing that he would be the last person on this earth that would know something he didn’t about Clarke.

Bellamy pushed the Great Hall door open and began his journey across the castle.

* * *

**_CLARKE_ **

Clarke teared up as soon as she saw him approaching.

Murphy’s eyes were wide and frantic, his gaze locked intensely on the witch in front of her. She was flat on her back, a white sheet draped across her and tucked around her waist. She dropped her limp hand as soon as she spotted Murphy and stood.

_ She wasn’t sure what to say. _

The Great Hall was quieter than it had been at the start of the hour, which was odd, considering there were more people now than before. The room was heavy with death and grief. It felt as though the air was a blanket over them — suffocating, weighing, drowning.

There was no hesitation to his actions. As soon as he spotted both of them, Murphy shoved several people out of his way as he sprinted the remaining distance. Even across the Great Hall from each other, she could see the pure panic on his face.

She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, trying desperately to figure out exactly what to say. Her hands were still covered in Raven’s blood. She shakily shoved them into her pockets, attempting to hide them from his gaze.

“Fuck!” Murphy was quick on his approach and stumbled when he was within a few meters of them. His eyes flicked quickly back and forth between Raven on the ground and Clarke hovering above her. “What happened— What?”

Clarke’s throat spasmed. Her chest was so tight that it was impossible to suck in a breath. The air seemed to have turned to ash in her mouth, painting her palette with bitterness and sorrow and—

Murphy dropped to his knees beside Raven, his face paler than she could ever recall, his eyes wide and searching. His hands shook as he lifted them towards her face. She could hear his shuddering breaths.

She didn’t have to know him well to know what he was feeling in that moment.  _ She felt it too.  _ The gut-wrenching fear — an emotion so sharp that it felt like a knife to the gut — the horror, the disbelief, the hope —  _ the fucking horrible hope— _

Murphy’s fingertips brushed across Raven’s cheek, his touch featherlight.

“Come on,” he said, his voice rough. He let out a soundless sob, his shoulders shaking with the action.  _ “Come on, Raven,”  _ he begged. “Please.”

She heard the words he wanted to say.

_ Please. _

_ Please don’t be dead. _

_ Please. _

_ Please don’t leave me. _

“No,” he said, his voice growing thicker.  _ “No.  _ Raven, come on! Raven—”

“Mm.”

He froze, his face quickly contorting from one of absolute anguish to shock to—

“Hey!” He pressed forward, his touches more sure, his voice brighter than it was seconds ago. “Hey, Raven — Raven, please — Rave—”

“Mmm.” Raven shifted under his hands, her nose scrunching up and her brows pushing together. “No— no need to beg, Mu— Murphy.”

He let out a wet laugh. His hand flattened to cup the side of her cheek, his fingers curling into her hair. “Fuck! Raven—”

There was a beat of silence before she opened her eyes. She grimaced with the strain. 

Murphy’s laugh was free and joyful and it was one of the most beautiful things Clarke heard that day. He readjusted his grip on her, his hands shaking all the while, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Grovelling isn’t— it isn’t a good look for you,” she said simply, her lips barely moving.

Murphy laughed again, his head swooping closer to hers. “What do you mean, Reyes?  _ Everything  _ is a good look for me.”

Her gaze slid to his chest, where he still wore Muggle overalls. The smile that followed was lazy and slow. “Keep— keep telling yourself that.”

Murphy glanced up from her, his joy bleeding away to worry again. They locked eyes. “What happened? Is she okay? Is she—”

“She’ll be fine,” Clarke promised him. She wiped away stray tears, but couldn’t stop the breathless laugh that followed. She had asked Madam Pomfrey the same thing only minutes ago, after she had finished administering several potions. “She’s going to be fine.”

With that confirmation, Murphy turned back to Raven. His fingers brushed against her cheeks and traced her jaw, drawing more lazy smiles from her. While her grip wasn’t as firm as his, she clung to him with every ounce of strength she could muster.

“Listen, Raven, I— I— Fuck. You are—” He swallowed thickly. “I am—”

“I know,” she said simply — and she did. Raven’s hand curled around his wrist and she tugged. “Kiss me.”

_ And he did. _

Murphy leaned in close, shielding her from the outside world with his body, and pressed his lips to hers. Raven’s hand tightened around his, their fingers threading together with an ease that Clarke had been oblivious to while they were at Diyoza’s.

_ She looked away. _

Clarke’s eyes slid shut and she bit her lip in an attempt to keep the hurt at bay.  _ She missed Bellamy.  _ Seeing Murphy and Raven reunite, while beautiful, was a sharp reminder that  _ she hadn’t done that with him. _

She wanted to curl into Bellamy’s side, and shield him from the world, and hang over him low enough for her hair to sweep his forehead, and kiss him like they had all the time in the world.

She wanted Bellamy.

_ She fucking wanted Bellamy. _

* * *

**_BELLAMY_ **

It was when he was walking across the graveyard-like courtyard when he saw it.

_ The sunrise. _

The sun was just beginning to breathe life back into the sky, seemingly breathing life into the world around him. The sharp pains from the night seemed to ease away the slightest bit.

_ It was a new day. _

It was a new day and, no matter what happened,  _ the war was going to end before the sun set again. _

Bellamy’s step faltered as he glanced towards the forest and caught the light shimmering in the trees. In a way, it looked like light reflecting off water, as if the trees themselves were moving, as if the light was—

He grew still as a deathly chill washed over him.

Masks.

_ Silver masks were approaching. _

Hastily, he glanced over his shoulder at the large clock along the castle’s side.

_ The hour wasn’t up! They still had time! They still had— _

And then he heard it.

“Harry Potter is dead!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE LAST CHAPTER and the epilogue left! AH!
> 
> disclaimer: the speech from Voldemort near the beginning of the chapter was taken straight from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	43. Chapter 42: I Open at the Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I’d like to give a very special thank you to literally one of my best friends, Lai. We spent so many hours bouncing ideas back and forth for the final battle chapters, and she’s a HUGE reason this fic is finished. Her genius brain helped with these last few chapters and I couldn’t be more thankful.
> 
> Also, a thank you to Jen (eyessharpweaponshot) for pre-reading this chapter and hyping me up last night. There’s very few people who would wake up at the crack of dawn and immediately read 17k words of ANYTHING. so. Thank you, my dear. 
> 
> _(and uh yeah you could say im very lucky to have friends like them!!)_
> 
> This chapter uses the format of the final battle from the movies (the earlier chapters had a mix between movie and book). So, a little disclaimer; the dialogue early in this chapter is right from the movie. 
> 
> Enjoy x

**_CLARKE_ **

_ May 2, 1998 _

“Harry Potter is dead!”

_ The moments that followed were a blur. _

She had been kneeling in front of Murphy, helping him heal the injuries scattered across his body, when Voldemort’s voice rang out. 

_ Deathly silence followed. _

Clarke’s wand was frozen to Murphy’s skin, her breath frozen in her chest — hell, even time itself seemed to stand frozen.

It was as though they were acting as a collective — each of the survivor’s moving as one when the shock broke across the hall. Cries rang out — cries of hopelessness, of disbelief, of agony, of  _ fear. _

Yes, there was fear —  _ pure primal fear,  _ curling its way into her heart, making her feel like she could simply lie down in the row of the fallen and it would be a simpler fate than what was to come.

Then, as quickly as they had all frozen, the survivors rushed forward — each person rushing out of the room in a great wave. Clarke pushed herself to her feet, her hands shaking at her side, her heart hammering and—

“No!” Murphy’s voice was desperate and frantic as he pleaded with the woman trying to push herself off the floor. “Raven, you can barely stand—”

“But—”

“Stay! Please!” He pushed himself to stand beside Clarke, the both of them being swept alongside the crowd. Raven looked torn, knowing she was exhausted and in pain, but  _ needing to contribute _ —

“I have to—”

“Please! Stay here! For me!”

_ And then they were gone. _

Clarke could only clutch Murphy’s hands as the tide carried them. Hands of people she didn’t know were on her back, pushing her forward. She couldn’t hear, not with everyone screaming and whispering and sobbing and—

They burst from the Great Hall, moved across the vestibule, hurdled over fallen walls and chunks of rubble, and finally —  _ finally —  _ they were outside.

The air was strikingly cold against her skin; it was fresh too, and she got the first breath of air in a  _ long  _ time that wasn’t tainted with the smell of iron and the tang of blood.

And, again, Voldemort cried out, his voice victorious. “Harry Potter is dead!”

“NO!”

Several voices called out in shock and horror. Heads bobbed in front of her vision, distorting her view of across the courtyard, but she could see it — silver masks gleaming under the rising sun, and faces pulled in snide jeers, and a sea of black robes.

And there, at the front of it all, was Voldemort himself.

Clarke held steady despite the fact that everything was telling her to flinch away — was telling her to run and hide and—

Murphy and Clarke finally came rest, still standing amongst the sea of bodies. The survivors were scattered amongst the debris of the battle closest to the castle, while the Death Eaters stood directly across from them. The courtyard, which was always a popular location to chat with friends between classes, now became no man’s land, acting as an imaginary barrier between the two opposing sides.

They stood close to the castle, the crumbling wall against their backs and stones under their feet. The remaining fighters trickled down the front staircase, allowing both of them to see the truth behind Voldemort’s words.

_ Harry Potter was dead.  _ The hero of the side they fought on was mere meters away from them, his body limp in Hagrid’s arms. The cries grew louder as more and more people spotted the gut-wrenching sight. 

She understood why they were distraught, she understood why they looked like they were seconds away from crumbling like the castle around her—

_ Potter was their leader.  _ He was the one they rallied behind. He was the one they promised to fight for.

_ Not her.  _ She never  _ liked  _ Potter that much, having always been on opposite sides at Hogwarts. She didn’t pledge herself to him. She pledged herself to do what was right. She pledged herself to the Order.

And, despite his death, those two things still stood.

Her hope for the war didn’t dim.

It wasn’t Potter’s body which held her attention.

_ It was the mass of Death Eaters.  _

Ever since she could remember, the sight of the silver mask and black robe made terror curl in her so deep that she forgot how to breathe. Even now, seeing them across the courtyard, she was reminded of the world she grew up in. She remembered all the expectations placed on her. She remembered her past, where she wasn’t strong enough to fight back against people she thought she loved, where she was afraid to stand up for the people that needed it most.

Her grip was so tight on Murphy’s hand, yet she didn’t let up. His returning grip was just as tight, just as desperate, just as—

_ There. _

Clarke’s eyes had been frantically scanning the crowd of Death Eaters, hoping with everything in her that  _ she was wrong,  _ and that  _ Malfoy was wrong,  _ and that—

_ Her mother. _

She stood near the centre of the hoard, mere meters behind her precious Dark Lord. She lacked the silver mask that made Clarke’s blood turn to ice, but her  _ face  _ was terrifying all on its own. Her expression was twisted and her eyes sharp. It was terrifying to note just how put together and  _ perfect  _ she looked — well-groomed hair, spotless robes, a tidy expression.

That woman was  _ exactly  _ like the woman Clarke remembered. She didn’t look wild and vicious like she did that night in Knockturn Alley. She didn’t even look as bloodthirsty as she had in the weeks leading up to Clarke’s escape.

No, Abby looked like she did when Clarke was a child, when she’d wait up past her bedtime to hug her goodnight after she returned from work, or when they’d attend galas together, or when—

_ Their eyes met. _

The simple action made the breath rush out of her lungs and made dread seep across her body. The emotions that encompassed her spread across her like ink soaking across a piece of parchment — it was unavoidable, and dark, and  _ fast. _

Something horrible rose up in Clarke, reminding her of the dread and the fear and the  _ cold  _ that the Dementors plunged her into. She was the one to break eye contact with her mother, turning to Murphy.

She was scared.

She was  _ absolutely terrified.  _

He felt her eyes on him and turned to face her. He looked stony and guarded — his jaw set and eyes hard — but she could sense his worry and his fear as well.

“Do you remember our promise?” For a brief moment, he looked confused. His lips parted, as if he was going to ask, but she was one step ahead. “Back at the hotel. We promised. You remember?”

A beat passed. Recognition flooded his gaze, quickly being replaced with hot anger.

“I’m not going to kill you, Clarke.”

_ He remembered.  _ Despite his words, relief flooded through her because  _ she trusted him.  _ She trusted him to do it if it came down to it, because he knew she’d do the same for him.

They weren’t going back to their parents.

“You promised,” she reminded, her voice devoid of emotion. “I’d rather be dead than with her.  _ You promised.  _ Promise me again.”

Murphy looked horrified. “Clarke—”

_ “Promise me.” _

A beat. His mouth snapped shut. His eyes hardened.

Then, finally, “I promise.”

She missed the majority of Voldemort’s gloating speech — his voice drowned out against the storm raging inside, just as the cries of the survivors had briefly faded away. Now though — now that she extracted that promise — she was pulled back to the present.

Voldemort stepped forward, his arms wide and beckoning. “Now is the time to declare yourself! Come forward and join us, or die.”

_ Nobody moved. _

Clarke’s gaze swept across the crowd once again, taking in all the determined faces and the red-rimmed eyes and the silent sobs. Not a single person inched forward; not a single person hesitated; not—

“Draco.”

It was a call from the other side of no man’s land — a call from his father. Moments later, it was echoed from his mother.

“Draco. Come.”

Clarke’s eyes snapped towards where he stood. Maybe it was because she grew up alongside him, or maybe it was because he was so distraught that he couldn’t hide his emotions, or maybe it was because  _ he just didn’t care anymore,  _ but—

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to go.

His body had grown deathly still under everyone’s gazes. His hands twitched at his sides. His jaw clenched and unclenched and—

“Draco.”

_ He moved. _

Clarke watched, feeling nearly empty, as he crossed no man’s land and was pulled into Voldemort’s embrace. She held her breath and tried to fight against the  _ fear  _ that threatened to send her to her knees, tried to keep her heart from pounding out of her chest, tried to keep her expression blank. 

_ She wasn’t scared for him. _

She was  _ terrified _ for herself.

_ That could be her.  _

Her eyes were drawn back to her mother’s, who stood several paces away from the Malfoys. Clarke’s heart pounded so steadily that she could feel it across her body and, quickly, it became the only thing she could hear.

She begged with  _ everything in her  _ that her mother would stay silent — that she wouldn’t call out for her to cross to their side. She hoped that she had made it clear the last time they met—

_ —she was not, and would never be, on her side. _

Abby simply stared at her, a slow smile growing, a haunting look reflected in her eyes. It was then that Clarke knew.

_ She was going to call out for her. _

Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe her refusing to follow Malfoy’s footsteps would show the remaining Order members that she was  _ true  _ and she was  _ loyal  _ and she was  _ brave —  _ just like the rest of the bloody Hogwarts houses. Maybe it would finally prove the fact that she was  _ here  _ and she was—

Someone broke from the crowd, limping across the battlefield.

It was then, as the gazes shifted to Neville Longbottom, that she saw him in the crowd.

Her breathing hitched.

He looked as beautiful as ever; his eyes intense and dark, his lips parted with shock, his hair blowing in the wind, his jaw locked. For a moment, Clarke saw those Greek heroes he always talked about; unwavering, and beautiful, and strong, and—

_ Bellamy. _

Everything else faded away.

It was him.

_ Just him. _

He stood between two Gryffindors, his arm lifted to prevent one of them from charging after Neville. His gaze darted between Neville, who was yelling, and the Death Eaters that surrounded him — his face made of stone and his expression fierce.

And, despite the world falling apart around them, she felt at peace.

Finally, she felt at peace.

_ He was alive. _

She knew him well enough to see between the cracks of the mask; she could see how terrified he was, just from the way his fingers trembled; and she could see how angry he was, just from the fires burning in his eyes.

For a second, her vision blurred with tears, and she couldn’t breathe, and her cheeks  _ hurt  _ from smiling so widely, and her legs were shaking underneath her, and—

_ He turned to her. _

The beat that followed seemed to stretch forever.

He stared —  _ just stared _ — his expression unchanging.

_ Bellamy. _

Then, as if time had unfrozen, he let out a breath of air, his eyes never leaving hers. 

_ And he smiled. _

_ Merlin,  _ her heart ached. It was in that moment that she realized just how much she forgot in their months apart — she forgot the glimmer to his eyes, and the exact way his cheeks dimpled, and how his whole body seemed to react — his shoulders relaxing, his throat bobbing, his chest deflating.

_ She wondered what else she forgot.  _ The exact shade of his eyes? All the layers of his voice? The sweetness to his kisses? The warmth of his touches?

_ She didn’t know. _

She was eager to find out.

Clarke couldn’t put a word to his expression. Disbelief. Hope. Joy. She felt all those emotions reflected in her soul as well.

He was here.

He was alive.

**_He was alive._ **

Then, his lips moved with a soundless word — her name — just her name.

_ Clarke. _

That was enough to break the spell over both of them.

_ She needed to get to him. _

Clarke was hit with the strongest desire to be beside him, to protect him, to face  _ whatever  _ came their way as they did everything else — together.

She dropped Murphy’s hand and rushed down the stairs, moving towards Bellamy frantically. Her heart hammered, and her hands shook, and her stomach felt like it was left behind, and—

“Confringo!”

_ She never got to him. _

Chaos broke loose as a spell was shouted across the courtyard. A wave of  _ absolute joy  _ rushed through the survivor’s side moments before an explosion rang out. Fire licked up the sides of the walkway just meters away from where they stood, debris flew everywhere, and—

She was pulled with the tide of people — most rushing back into the castle, some rushing forward to meet the Death Eater’s head on.

_ The battle was back on. _

The snap of spells was familiar, as was the sound of shattering glass, and shouting comrades, and roaring fire. Jets of green and red whizzed over her head, hitting the castle wall with such speed that it caused stone to rain down.

She shielded her head with her arms and pressed forward, desperate to get to him.

Rock stung her skin. Blood trickled down her forearms. People shoved into her from behind, making her stumble several times, as they ran in all directions. And, finally, when she was thrown to her knees, warm hands wrapped around her elbow and hoisted her up.

“Griffin!”

While it wasn’t the Blake she craved to see, the sight of Octavia still made her let out a loose laugh.

“Octavia!” They both dodged falling rubble as they ran towards the castle. Her hands never loosened from her elbow as they raced forward. “What— Where’s your brother?!”

“What!?”

They both dove to the side, pulling around the doors of Hogwarts, stepping out of the way of a dozen flying spells. Clarke’s head slammed into the wall and the breath left her chest.

“Bellamy! Where is he!?”

She never got an answer from her.

They both sprang into action as the remaining Death Eaters entered the castle. They stood side by side as spells shot at them from every direction, working together silently and sloppily to keep each other safe.

Octavia was like Bellamy — she was quick on the attacks and the offensive spells. Clarke cast wide shield after shield, each one only staying upright for seconds before it was shattered.

_ The world blurred together. _

While this battle was easier than the one only an hour before, she was still fighting with everything in her. This time, it wasn’t just the desperation for survival keeping her going, it was the fact that she knew Bellamy was out there.

_ It was a desperation to get to him. _

Death Eaters fell. Each one of Octavia’s spells hit their mark — her aim was incredible. Clarke barely had time to marvel at it; as each Death Eater fell, two more rose to replace them. 

The other survivors were close by. Clarke didn’t risk a moment to look around and take in the chaos, but she could hear the sharp snap of spells and she felt the collective energy building.

_ They could do this. _

Time became an abstract concept. She measured the battle by shields cast and Death Eaters down and—

Clarke grew distracted when she saw dark curls across the Great Hall from her. They were in and out of her vision in a flash, never giving her enough time to truly get a good look at them.  _ But the flash was enough to distract her. _

Octavia let out a grunt as she shoved her to the side, pushing her out of the way of a blue hex. They both landed on the ground roughly and only managed to stay in one piece due to Octavia’s shield.

“Griffin! You with me!?” Octavia snapped, her eyes filled with fire. “We need to—”

Except, she was already too far gone.

_ Bellamy. _

She needed to get to Bellamy.

She recognized those curls — she would recognize them anywhere — and she was filled with a new burning desperation. It wasn’t a question of  _ when  _ she was going to see him — it was a question of  _ how quickly could she get to him? _

Octavia fired another few shield charms with stunners in between while Clarke glanced around the hall. Granger, Lovegood and Weasley were battling one of the most trusted Death Eaters, professors were battling Voldemort himself, Death Eaters were fleeing with each passing second, already knowing how the war was going to end.

_ Clarke. Had. To. Find. Bellamy. _

“Octavia! Octavia, I have to—” She stunned a Death Eater that got too close for comfort. “I have to find—”

They made eye contact. Sweat beaded down Octavia’s temples and blood was splattered across her cheeks, but she looked  _ happy  _ — like she was  _ enjoying  _ this. 

“Godric! You two are sickening,” she teased. She turned back to the Death Eaters at hand. “Go! I got this!”

“Are you—”

_ “Go!” _

Clarke didn’t need to be told again.

She hauled herself to her feet and sprinted out of the Great Hall, headed in the direction that she saw him running only moments ago. She sprinted through the vestibule and into the adjacent hallway, hearing the snap of spells in the distance.

For a long moment, it was just her again — her breath coming out as shallow gasps, the slap of her shoes on stone, the steady rush of the blood through her ears. The fight was growing closer — she could tell she was almost there when she turned the corner and heard electricity arcing through the air.

_ Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy. _

She was determined to find him, determined to reunite with him, determined to stand  _ with  _ him. The taste that she got when they were across the courtyard from each other was enough to light a burning fire of desire and need inside of her and now—

_ Now, she needed to get to him. _

She was desperate, and determined, and wouldn’t let  _ anything  _ get in her way.

_ They didn’t come this far for nothing. They didn’t survive months of war, and months of separation, and countless fights, and dozens of hours of battle just to end like this. _

Clarke was going to find him and  _ never  _ let him go.

Fuck the war, fuck death, fuck  _ everything. _

Bellamy was  _ hers.  _ She wasn’t going to let anything take that away — not even Death himself.

And, finally, when she turned the next corner of the hallway, she saw where the sounds of battle were coming from. A Death Eater stood with his front to her, facing down a man in plain Wizarding robes a few feet in front of her.

_ Neither of them were Bellamy. _

Clarke was tempted, just the slightest bit, to turn around and run in the opposite direction. She was tempted to say  _ screw everything else  _ on her race to find Bellamy, but she couldn’t.

She couldn’t leave this person to face down a Death Eater alone.

The silver mask glinted in the rising sun. The sun bursting through the windows painted a long and towering shadow across the hallway, making the Death Eater look larger than life.

It was beautiful and haunting.

Clarke launched herself into the battle.

She cast a stunner at the Death Eater, which was easily deflected. It gained their attention though, which allowed the wizard in the Wizarding robes a second to breathe. He was gasping for air, his left arm pressed tightly to his ribs. He was hurt.

Clarke stepped forward, another stunner bursting from her wand. The Death Eater simply stepped out of the way. And, in a surprising turn of events, his wand lowered to point towards the ground.

“Clarke,” the Death Eater said simply. The rush of her blood stilled as a chill washed over her.  _ She knew his voice.  _ “Good.”

He didn’t need to remove the silver mask for her to know who he was.  _ Cage.  _ His father used to work with her mother long before Clarke ever discovered her involvement with the Dark Arts, which forced her to spend too much time with his son. When she saw the snake on his inner arm several summers ago, she realized just how much sense it made for him to be a mindless follower of his Dark Lord.

“Cage,” she snapped, stepping in front of the injured wizard. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, too long.”

“Have to disagree with you there. It’s a shame I ever had to hear your voice again.”

Cage’s eyes were visible just beyond the mask — they were just as dark and beady as she remembered them being. She wondered if he still wore the same sneer and had the same cockiness too. She thought back to all those times where she dreamed of punching him in the face for being an asshole to her.

_ This had been a long time coming. _

His gaze flicked just over her shoulder. She could see him smile mockingly.

“Looks like your friend has run away. Guess they don’t trust you.”

Clarke didn’t need to turn around to know that the wizard who’d previously been battling Cage had taken off as soon as she stepped in front of him.

“Why do you fight for these people?” he pressed, stalking forward. Clarke mirrored his actions and took several steps back, moving to circle him. “They don’t like you. They don’t  _ care  _ for you.”

“Unlike some, I don’t  _ need  _ others’ approval.” He moved to circle her. Her eyes flicked towards his wand, which still lay dormant at his side, before flicking back up to his face. “I’m perfectly fine with people hating me.”

“What? Love yourself so much that you don’t need the love of others?”

“Well, I don’t measure ‘self-love’ the same way you do. It requires less lube.” His smile turned bitter. She lifted her eyebrows. “Why don’t you take off that stupid thing? You look like a child wearing his father’s clothes.”

_ That  _ hit him where it hurt. His wand lifted to point in her direction. He didn’t move to take off his mask.

“How  _ is _ your father?” she wondered, knowing very well he died the summer she left home.

“None of your business,” Cage growled. He took another step in her direction. “Stop playing games, Griffin.”

“Who’s playing?” The tip of her wand gestured to his mask. “I asked you to take it off.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“Ah, that’s right, you just take orders from someone who’s more monster than man.” Clarke tried to remain impassive. “Although, I thought you’d  _ enjoy  _ being able to see this clearly — that is, if you’re so confident you’re going to kill me.”

Cage laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not going to  _ kill you.”  _ Yet, he reached up and tugged off his silver mask. Her gaze never left his eyes. “No, I’m under strict orders from your mother.”

“Still not using that brain for yourself, are you? Unfortunate.”

He still wasn’t rising up to take the bait. Clarke gripped her wand tighter and she tried desperately to think of another approach — tried to think of anything to throw him off his game.

Except, the truth was,  _ she  _ was thrown off her game by what  _ he  _ said.

_ Her mother still wanted her alive. _

That sent a chill through her. It caused her mind to swim with possibilities, and caused her stomach to roll, and made her feel like the claws of dread were hooking under her skin again.

_ Her mother was here, she knew she was here, and she wanted her alive. _

Now, more than before, she decided she needed to find Bellamy.

Almost as if he could read her mind, his lips curled into a sadistic smile. The little laugh he let out made Clarke want to drive her knuckles into his nose.

“Oh, I see. I’m not interesting enough for you?”

“You’re a puppet, Cage. I’d rather go play with the puppet masters.” She hardened her expression and took a threatening step towards him. “We’re done here.”

“Right. Right.” He pointed his wand at her as well. “But…  _ you see,  _ I told your mother that I’d bring you to her as soon as I found you.”

“Guess she’s going to be displeased with your results then, isn’t she?” Clarke’s heart thudded in her chest. The incantation for a shield was on the tip of her tongue. “I’ll be nice, just because you took off your mask like a good little follower. I’ll give you the option to drop your wand right now and lay down on the ground — that way, you won’t bang your pretty little head when I stun you. Deal?”

He growled and took a step forward. “Would you be this cocky if you knew  _ exactly  _ what your mother had planned?”

_ No. _

“I don’t give a fuck about my mother. It’s kind of weird that  _ you  _ do though.” Clarke grit her teeth and stood her ground, ignoring the way the wood of her wand grew slick around her sweating palms. “One last chance, Cage, and then I won’t give you an option.”

“You’ll be reconsidering when you hear this, Clarke.  _ Someone special is waiting for you near the snake dens.”  _ His smile sent a chill to her heart. “Now  _ I’ll _ be giving  _ you  _ one last chance. Let me take you to your mother and this will all be over.”

“I don’t need you to take me anywhere,” she spat. “Now get down before—”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish the spell he started. She was quicker than him and shot a stunner straight at his chest. He crumpled to the ground.

Clarke took a second to catch her breath and calm her nerves before she finished tying him up and kicking his wand out of reach. Her heart still pounded wildly against her ribs, washing away the sounds of the battle in the distance.

She mulled over Cage’s words. The longer she thought about them, the worse they sounded.

_ “Someone special is waiting for you near the snake den.” _

It was without a doubt in her mind that he was talking about the Slytherin dormitories — it was what Slytherins used to call their common room when she was still a student.

The question was; who was he talking about? When she first heard it, she assumed he had been talking about her mother, but now—

_ What if it wasn’t Abby? _

Wouldn’t he have said it was her mom, since they were talking about her specifically? Why did he choose that sentence to become cryptic? Why did his face twist like that, almost as if he was  _ playing with her,  _ like he knew something she didn’t.

_ It hit her all at once. _

Someone special.

_ Bellamy. _

As soon as the thought registered, she took off sprinting.

_ Faster, faster, faster. _

Her legs flew underneath her, moving faster than they had before. A new burst of energy came from somewhere —  _ how the hell was she finding new energy, even after hours of battle? _

It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered — nothing except him.

_ She had to find him. _

Clarke sprinted down the corridor, the words of Cage ringing in her ears.

_ “Someone special is waiting for you near the snake den.” _

Over and over and over and—

_ Bellamy. _

Horrible possibilities ran through her mind as she raced towards the main staircase. It was easy to picture him dead, his lifeless body encased in a green light after a Killing Curse and her mother standing above him.  _ She’d seen an image similar to that before,  _ just in Knockturn Alley.

She could see Bellamy broken, and bleeding, and  _ dying  _ because of her —  _ all because of her. _

Clarke tried to grasp at the strands of hope that remained. She didn’t know for sure that Cage was referring to Bellamy — she could be running right into her mother’s arms if she was wrong. She could be wrong.  _ She could be wrong. _

_ She fucking hoped she was wrong. _

Clarke slid down several stairs in her haste to get to the dungeons. She gripped the chipped banister tightly as she ran, desperate to keep herself upright, desperate to get to him as fast as she could, desperate to feel  _ anything under her goddamned palms — anything that could ground her and make her feel okay. _

The air grew colder the further she travelled. The signs of the battle faded away into nothing the closer she got to the dungeons. The familiar dark halls almost looked untouched by the war.

_ She ran. _

Her side grew tight with a stitch.

Sweat trickled down her back.

The wood of her wand buzzed with magic, as if the object itself was charging itself up for a fight.

_ Her mind circled around one word. _

Bellamy.

Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy.

She could still hear the battle raging above her. Or, maybe that was her imagination. She wasn’t sure. Clarke had a feeling that the screams of the dying would never truly stop haunting her thoughts, just as they refused to stop haunting her now.

_ Faster, faster, faster. _

She flew through the corridors, stumbling over her own two feet, her breath coming out in gasps. Her ears strained to hear past the sounds of the battle above — trying to hear for any sounds of struggle, or any voices, or  _ anything. _

Part of her hoped that she’d hear Bellamy’s voice again, just so she knew where he was, just so she could protect him.

Part of her knew that hearing his voice now would be a curse. It would mean Cage was telling the truth — that Bellamy was somewhere down here.

_ And, really, why would Cage lie? _

She ran faster.

The hallways grew more familiar.

Clarke couldn’t breathe — couldn’t think — couldn’t  _ move  _ as she rounded the final corner before the Slytherin dormitories.

_ She saw him. _

Clarke wrongfully assumed she’d seen all the horrors possible already that day. She saw the people she came to fight for turn against her, she saw Death Eaters threatening to kill her, she saw people she used to consider friends turn against her — she was betrayed, and battered, and bruised — the castle she grew up in had been torn down, and her classmates murdered, and  _ people she loved died right before her eyes. _

Yet, the image in front of her now made all of that feel like nothing.

And there, right in front of the room that came as close to home as possible, was her mother, smugly smiling, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment.

The breath left her lungs in a whoosh when she saw him, kneeling on the ground in a pool of his own blood, his face twisted in a grimace, a knife pressed into his throat.

_ Bellamy. _

Her mother crouched behind him, her fingers tugging on his hair roughly, angling his head as far back as it could go. In her other hand, she clutched a knife, the blade of it pressing lightly into the skin on his neck. While it wasn’t drawing blood yet, Clarke knew it would with the slightest bit of pressure.

“Oh, good,” Abby commented lightly, as if she was simply welcoming her home after school. “I was beginning to worry about you, dear.”

They couldn’t be more than twenty feet away from each other, but it felt  _ so fucking far away,  _ especially when she could dig her knife into his throat before she made it half-way.

Bellamy thrashed in her grasp in an attempt to break free. The attempt didn’t last long; the knife is pressed a little deeper to his neck and Abby let out a patronizing sound, reminding Clarke of her scolding a child.

“Tsk, tsk, Bellamy. You know better than that,” she said, her voice feigning softness.

Bellamy thrashed again, this time managing to pull his head upright several inches. It was a split second where they made eye contact before his head was slammed back again. Clarke’s heart hammered in her chest. Her stomach twisted horribly.

_ He looked horrified. _

_ That  _ broke Clarke from the shock that froze her to the ground. She took a step forward, her wand pointing directly at Abby’s face. 

“Stop,” Clarke ordered, her voice firm. Her eyes never left Abby’s. “Don’t hurt him.”

Abby’s eyes flick back up to Clarke’s, silently challenging her. “Hurt him? Clarke, dear, I wouldn’t  _ dream  _ of doing that.” 

“Clarke!” Bellamy’s voice was hard and demanding, leaving no room for question.  _ It was the first time she heard it in months.  _ “Clarke, go—!”

Bellamy’s hands were tied together in front of his body. It was impossible for him to block the incoming blow from Abby, straight into his gut. He doubled over, gasping for air, before he was shoved right back into the position she found him in — his head pulled as far back as it could go, a knife pressed right into his pulse point, his body rigid.

“I warned you,” Abby told him, her voice sharper than before. “You don’t want to hurt yourself, do you? Besides, you wouldn’t want  _ Clarke  _ to see your blood  _ gush  _ out of your corpse. That would be a pathetic reunion.”

Clarke had no doubt in her mind that her mother wasn’t bluffing. She had seen her ruthlessness only a few weeks before, when she shot a Killing Curse at the innocent wizard in Knockturn Alley as a punishment for her defiance.

Clarke knew she wouldn’t hesitate to do the same here. One wrong step, and the knife would get plunged into his neck.

She fought to keep her mind clear and her breathing steady. Her hand shook from fear and adrenaline. Her knees were weak.

“Mom,” Clarke tried again, her voice softer than before. “Mom, just let him go, alright? He has nothing to do with this.”

Abby snarled. Her arm twitched. Clarke watched as a few drops of blood slid to Bellamy’s collarbones.

“Shut it!” she hissed. “This has  _ everything  _ to do with this— this  _ thing.”  _ Her laugh was deranged. It made a chill wash up her spine. “He did this to us! He caused you to turn against me!” Her knife briefly lifted from his neck so she could point in her direction. For a second, Clarke was  _ absolutely sure  _ she was going to throw it at her. “You wanted this, hon! This is on you!”

Bellamy tried to break free from Abby’s hold again, surging forward and shouting, “Clarke, go!”

Abby was faster than either of them. She plunged the knife deep into his leg, drawing a yell of pain from Bellamy. Clarke remained silent, but inched forward.

_ Please. Please, please, please. _

She didn’t know what she was begging for, but she continued to chant the word over and over in her mind.

_ Please let him go. _

_ Please stop. _

_ Please don’t do this. _

The blood dripping onto the stone beneath him quickened. The leg of his pants, while already coloured with dried blood and soot, turned nearly black from the flow of blood. 

She was drowning, she was sure of it. This was all happening too fast for her to process.  _ Too much, too fast.  _ Too much at risk. Too much—

“I warned you, Bellamy,” Abby said, her voice losing its playfulness. Her eyes snapped towards Clarke again and her knife, now covered in blood, pressed against his neck. “I warned you too, Clarke.”

She did. She warned her this would happen. She told her in Knockturn Alley — she told her that she was going to make Bellamy pay for all the mistakes that she made, for all the hurt and trouble she caused.

_ Bellamy was getting hurt because of her. _

Desperate now, Clarke tried again. “Mom, don’t,” she warned, her voice cracking. “Just… let him go. Please.  _ Please,  _ just let him—”

“If he’s so special to you,” Abby taunted, “then come home.”

_ Home? _

Before Clarke could begin to wonder what she meant, Abby twisted her wand and Disapparated with a sharp crack.

For a moment, Clarke remained still, the shock of the moment holding her in place. The sound of her heart pounding in her chest slowly was replaced by a sharp ringing in her ears, which quickly changed to the shouts of the battle.

She gasped for breath as the battle raged behind her. 

People screamed.

Fires burned.

Spells cracked.

_ Yet, all she could think about was Bellamy. _

All she could think of was Bellamy’s panicked eyes, and his sharp gasps for air, and his cries of pain, and his struggle. All she could think about was how he was fighting to hold on for her; fighting to stay brave for her; fighting to save her, even though he was the one bleeding out.

In the distance, she could hear someone calling out for help.

When she Disapparated, she did so without a second thought for the battle behind her.

.

As she travelled from Hogwarts to the Manor, she kept her eyes squeezed shut, a mixture of horror and terror gripping her. She imagined the building she grew up in; the high ceilings, and the wood floors, and the marble stairs. She thought of the darkness that she imagined lurked in every corner, and the smell of dust that followed her everywhere, and all the  _ hate  _ she had for that  _ fucking house. _

Griffin Manor materialized around her.

She  _ smelt  _ the change more than she saw it.

It smelled just like she remembered. Clarke got the oddest sense of vertigo as soon as it hit her; for a moment, it felt like the floor had been ripped out from under her, or maybe she hadn’t fully Apparated yet, or maybe—

The smell of old books and dust and wet leaves made her feel like she hadn’t left at all.

It didn’t matter.

She forced her eyes open and tried to focus on  _ anything  _ to keep the dizziness at bay.

The first thing she noticed was how empty it was — her mother nor Bellamy were in the grand sitting room like she hoped they were.

The second thing she noticed was how the room looked identical to the day she left. Everything looked like it was ripped straight from a book and put on display. And, as she ran through the room, it felt like she was running through a museum.

That was the thing she always hated about Griffin Manor; things remained in stasis here. It was like nothing ever changed at all; not the smell, not the decor, not the people, not the ideas, not even herself.

It was true even now. Despite it being  _ months  _ since she was last here, it felt like no time had passed. She felt like a scared and confused girl again, so sure she didn’t agree with what was happening, but not quite sure what to do about it. She felt the echoes of the day she left radiate through her; the determination to leave, the comfort that the solidity of the plan gave her, the fear that her mother would find out and be disappointed in her, the  _ need  _ to run from the war and  _ hide until it was all over. _

She remembered thinking that day,  _ ‘once this is all over, I can come home.’ _

Except, this wasn’t home anymore.

It never really was.

Her home was with her people.

_ Her home was with Bellamy. _

And now, as she dashed through the foreboding halls of her old home, she couldn’t help but beg to any deity she could think of—

_ —please save her new home. _

Clarke ran through the empty halls. Portraits of her ancestors stared back at her. Her footsteps echoed. Her breathing grew shallow.

“Mom!?” she called, her voice sounding so small. “Bellamy!?”

_ No answer. _

She ran faster.

_ Please, please, please. _

Please be here.

Please be alive.

Please don’t hurt him.

_ Don’t hurt him. _

She raced towards the west wing of the manor, heading towards the living quarters. Out of every area of the manor,  _ this  _ was the place she most considered home. If they weren’t in the grand sitting room, then they were in the living quarters.

_ They had to be. _

_ She had to be right. _

She didn’t allow her mind to run wild with possibilities. She couldn’t afford to think of how she could be wrong — how she came back to Griffin Manor for no reason, how her mother was waiting for her elsewhere with her knife digging into Bellamy’s throat.

_ Fuck. _

Even with the walls and hallways of the manor flying by her, she couldn’t stop seeing Bellamy  _ withering in pain, struggling in her mother’s hands, blood rushing to the floor. _

It was straight out of her worst nightmare. 

_ This  _ was straight out of her nightmares.

But, when Clarke burst into her childhood bedroom, she decided that not even she imagined how horrible this was — not even in her worst nightmare.

They were in a position identical to the one at Hogwarts; Bellamy was on his knees, his head pulled back sharply, a knife pressed to his throat; Abby stood behind him, her lips twisted and her jaw locked, her one hand digging sharply into his curls and her holding the knife against him. Unlike at Hogwarts, Bellamy’s face was now covered in blood — a product from what looked like a broken nose.

Her bedroom was like she left it; green silk sheets, black furniture, pristine white walls, her trusted Quidditch broom in the corner, her calligraphy set scattered along the desk. Sunlight from the rising sun bled in through the curtains, painting a strip of golden light between her and her mother.

Clarke’s chest heaved. It felt like she was very quickly spinning out of control.

And, despite there being more pressing issues that she should’ve been focused on, all she could see was Bellamy.

His chest heaved similarly to her, his breathing coming out in sharp, shallow gasps. Blood was pooling on the tile of her room, trickling from the stab wound she knew rested in his thigh and other injuries still unknown to her. Blood stained the collar of his shirt as the knife punctured his skin.

_ Bellamy. _

Her heart thudded in her chest. The world felt so far away. 

_ It was only him. _

_ Only him. _

Clarke took a step into the room, her eyes still locking on his shaking form. He hadn’t attempted to break free from Abby’s hold yet, but she could see the terror in his eyes — they were wide and his gaze darted around. The muscles along his neck and shoulders were pulled tight, as if he was a spring coiled, ready to snap at any second. He might’ve been covered in blood and sweat and dirt, but he was  _ here  _ and he was  _ alive  _ and she was desperate to keep it that way.

“Welcome home,” Abby said, her voice taunting.

Clarke stepped forward, her arms shaking and her lips curled with rage. Before she could move more than two steps, Abby simply lifted her eyebrow and pursed her lips. “I’d think about what you’re doing, honey, or your friend’s going to end up paying the price.” Clarke froze, her jaw locked. “You attempt to pull  _ anything,  _ and he pays the price.”

Clarke felt numb.

“What do you want?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even. She hoped her mother didn’t hear the tremor in her words. “Why are you doing this?”

“I tried to reach out to you. I tried to play nice.” Her mother’s feigned worry and care well. “I offered you a deal, Clarke, and you were the one to turn it down.  _ Remember that.  _ This is  _ your  _ doing.”

Clarke didn’t want to argue, not when a knife was pressed against Bellamy’s throat.

Her eyes flicked to his for a brief moment — just long enough to register the panic in them — before she glanced back up.

“Just… Just tell me what you want.  _ Please.  _ Just tell me and I’ll do it. I’ll do it, I promise.  _ Just tell me.” _

The longer she stood there, the more real the situation got, and the more desperate she became.

_ Bellamy wouldn’t die because of her. _

_ He wouldn’t. _

She’d do anything to keep himself, including anything her mother wanted.

Abby laughed. “I offered you a one-time deal, Clarke, and you said no.” Bellamy’s breathing hitched when the knife pressed harder. “This is what you wanted. You wanted me to be the villain of your story. You wanted to  _ paint  _ me as the  _ bad guy.  _ You  _ caused this.” _

“Clarke—” Bellamy gasped, “Clarke, just—”

He was silenced with the knife once again.

Clarke felt cold. Numb. Distant. Desperate.

“You— you wanted me to come home, right?” Clarke swallowed thickly. “I’m here. I’m home. Alright? Bellamy has nothing to do with this, so—” Abby’s eyes flashed and, for a moment, Clarke was sure she was going to push the knife further. She lurched forward, her heart in her throat. “Stop! Just— Just please. Mom. Stop.  _ Please  _ don’t hurt him.” Clarke hated how her mother’s eyes glinted, and she hated how she looked  _ smug,  _ and she hated how she was  _ so fucking close to losing Bellamy.  _ “You’ve got me. You’ve got—”

Her wand lurched from her hands and flew across the room. Her mother snatched it from the air, momentarily pulling the knife away from Bellamy’s throat to do so. When she took a single step away from Bellamy, he dropped to the floor on all fours, gasping for air.

Clarke remained frozen, despite every muscle in her body telling her to run to him.

She could only watch in horror as her mother grasped both ends of the wand and  _ bent,  _ snapping the sturdy wood as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Her heart lurched and she grew briefly dizzy, knowing that she now was wandless and Bellamy was gasping and her mother was smiling and—

“You were right,” Clarke said quickly, desperate to save Bellamy. “You were right at Knockturn Alley. You— you told me that I was ungrateful, that I was childish, and  _ you were right.  _ I don’t appreciate you. I  _ didn’t  _ appreciate you.” Her thoughts raced. Her hands shook. She was desperate —  _ so fucking desperate.  _ “I’m selfish and I only thought of myself. I— I never thought of you and I never thought about how much I was hurting you and  _ I’m sorry.” _

Bellamy’s head whipped up. His eyes burned. “Clarke—”

“I love you so much, mom,” Clarke said, her voice growing emotional. She choked on her tears. “I’m so sorry for— for everything; for running away from home, and causing you to hurt, and damaging the family’s reputation.  _ I’m sorry.”  _ It was easy to let the tears run down her cheeks. It was easy for her hands to shake. “You were always thinking of me, and you always did everything for me, and I was so  _ stupid  _ not to see it before, but I see it now, and I’m so appreciative and—  _ please.  _ Please, just— just let me come home.” Clarke sobbed.  _ “Let me come home and prove it to you.  _ I will. I’ll do it. I’ll prove my loyalty to you, and our ancestors, and the Dark Lord.  _ I’ll do anything.  _ Just, please,  _ don’t hurt him” _

Bellamy looked horrified and confused, but couldn’t speak as he gasped for breath. Her mother hesitated, both halves of her wand still hanging limply in her hands.

And, to seal the deal, Clarke thought back to Murphy’s words, spoken only hours ago.

“I’m willing to serve the Dark Lord. They treated me like shit — the Order did. They don’t trust me. They don’t like me. They locked me up to  _ die  _ during the battle. They treated me like a criminal and, for what? For being a Pureblood? For being sorted into a different house?  _ They drove me away themselves.”  _ She ignored the way Bellamy’s breathing shuddered. “Just…  _ Don’t hurt him.  _ Let him go.”

He inched forward, moving closer to her. She was drawn to him — her eyes locked with his — and she  _ hoped with everything in her  _ that it wasn’t for the last time.

“Clarke,” he choked out, still barely able to breathe. “Clarke, don’t—”

Abby silenced him with a swift kick to the ribs. He clutched his side and gasped for air.  _ Clarke didn’t flinch.  _ She simply raised her eyes to meet her mother’s.

“I’ll be whoever you want me to be,” she promised. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

“Clarke— No—”

She forced her eyes to grow hard and dangerous as they snapped to his. “Don’t. Just—” Her gaze snapped to her mother’s.  _ “Please.  _ Please.” She took a step towards her. She could sense her hesitating and she knew she’d have to push just a  _ little  _ bit harder. “We can— we can start over. Just the two of us. We’ll start fresh. It’ll be like this year never happened. We can go to galas again, and go shopping, and  _ talk,  _ and I won’t say  _ anything.  _ I’ll be who you want me to be and I’ll be  _ happy —  _ but only if we go now.” Her eyes dropped to Bellamy, who still lay gasping on the ground. “And only if you let me say goodbye to him. Just quickly.” Her mother’s nose wrinkled and Clarke pushed harder. “I  _ know  _ you’re a good person, mom,  _ I know.  _ So, please, just let me do this one thing and—”

Abby’s lip curled. “You beg too much, Clarke.” Her gaze flicked between her and Bellamy for a moment before she nodded firmly. “Fine. You’ll do good to remember my kindness.”

Clarke lurched forward, closing the distance between her and Bellamy without a second thought. Her knees smacked the ground painfully, and she’d knew they’d bruise later —  _ but she didn’t care.  _

Suddenly, she was beside him again, and it felt like no time had passed at all.

He was flat on his back, holding his ribs, his expression twisted into a grimace. She could hear him wheezing and gasping, and her heart lurched. Clarke wasted no time in pressing her hands to his side, where they were instantly soaked in blood.

“Bellamy,” she breathed and, the simple word, made her feel like she was being crushed from all angles.

She was right earlier; she had forgotten a lot of things since the last time they saw each other. She forgot how his hands felt on top of hers, and she forgot the way his freckles dusted his skin, and she forgot how his eyes seemed to hold so much intensity and emotion, as if they could convey all of his thoughts straight to her.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl over so her forehead could press against his, and she wanted to  _ sob.  _ All day —  _ all month —  _ she had barely been holding it together and now that she was beside him, she wanted to let it all out.

_ He was the only one she trusted to fall apart beside. _

_ He was the only one that would know exactly what to do and say to help her find comfort. _

_ He was the only one. _

But, she couldn’t let herself fall to pieces — not now, not with her mother watching every breath, not with the time they had left together slipping away so quickly.

Her name was tumbling from her lips over and over, as quiet as ever, almost as if he was saying a prayer. His hand was slick against hers from blood, but she could still feel  _ him —  _ the roughness to the pads of his fingertips, and the warmth of his palm, and the curve to his fingers. 

“Hey,” she breathed, her voice sounding more like a plea than anything. His eyes —  _ so brown, and so warm, and so like  _ **_home_ ** _ —  _ were moving in and out of focus and it  _ terrified  _ her. His lips were too pale, and his eyes too dim, and—  _ he was dying, she was so sure of it.  _ “Bellamy — Bellamy —  _ listen to me.  _ Listen.”

_ “Clarke.” _

“Yes, yes, it’s me.” 

Her hand shook as she grasped his face, her tears blurring her vision, her whole shaking alongside her breath.  _ His eyes were still too out of focus.  _ Fear made her go cold.

“Clarke,” her mother warned, sounding impatient. “You said—”

“I’m saying goodbye,” she said, her voice sounding hysterical. “Just— a little longer.” When she didn’t argue, Clarke turned back to Bellamy, her fingers fumbling. She could barely breathe — the air was trapped in her lungs. “Bell, look at me.  _ Look.” _

His eyes fluttered open. His breathing was raspy.

“Go.  _ Please.”  _ His hand curled against her own. “Don’t do this. Not for me.”

_ She would do anything for him. _

And,  _ finally,  _ she caught his eyes long enough to perform the spell. Her breathing stuttered as she pushed forward, their thoughts brushing against each other. 

**_‘I’m sorry,’_ ** she said, her voice ringing between them.  **_‘I love you.’_ **

His mental shields were nonexistent and she hated herself for not teaching him how to perform Occlumency while they were on the run. Although, maybe it was a gift, now that she desperately tried to communicate with him in a way her mother couldn’t see.

His thoughts were disorganized and chaotic, never truly forming before they were swept away again. Pain clouded his mind.

She could barely breathe from the effort this was taking her. Her thoughts swam. Her vision blurred. Instead of using Legilimency to look  _ in,  _ she was using it to force her own thoughts towards his.

Suddenly, neither of them were looking at each other. A memory washed over them, so strong and pointed that she could feel the cold tile under her feet and smell pastry cooking and  _ feel  _ the afternoon sun along her shoulders. Despite the image flashing quickly, it was so  _ clearly  _ the same bedroom they were currently laying in.

The memory was from the summer of her fifth year, right after she burned the palm of her hand in her attempt to brew an advanced potion at home. There was a flash of her desk, and her hand reached for the top right drawer, and there was a splash of  _ strawberry  _ on her tongue as she consumed the general healing potion stashed away.

She hoped he understood.

**_‘Get it. Use it.’_ **

_ Because, if he didn’t she was terrified to think about what would happen. _

She pulled out of the Legilimency before he could sense any more of her half-formed plans. She knew that, if he found out what she was planning, he’d never let go of her hand.

Bellamy blinked at her owlishly and it was  _ so painfully obvious  _ that he was confused and had no clue what just happened.  _ Salazar,  _ he probably never experienced Legilimency before in his life.

To hide his shock, Clarke rocked forward and pressed her lips to his own. The kiss was wet and frantic — a reunion that she never imagined when she was on the run. She imagined soft breaths and tiny sighs and creasing hands and breathless laughs — not this.

_ Not the tears, and the fear, and the desperation. _

She pulled back from him before his free hand could cup her cheek, knowing that, if he held her like that, she’d never find it in herself to go through with this.

“I love you,” she promised him. The thud of her heart in her chest was so strong that she was sure he could feel it. “It’ll be okay.”

“Clarke—”

To mask her true intentions, she moved forward to press a long kiss to his forehead. Her eyes slid shut and the hand she used to cup his jaw now carded through his hair. 

This time, it was her mother who spoke.  _ “Clarke,  _ that’s  _ enough.  _ He’s filth—”

_ She didn’t pay attention. _

Discreetly, her hand covered in blood ran across his torso, moving across the familiar slopes and curves of his muscle  _ one final time.  _ With her heart pounding and her mother snarling and time slipping away like sand, she finally —  _ finally —  _ curled her hand around the familiar warm wood of his wand, tucked, as usual, in the inside pocket of his cloak. Warmth ran from her fingertips into her shoulders.

Maybe he didn’t realize what she was doing. Maybe he was too far out of it. Maybe he didn’t care.

_ He didn’t react. _

Clarke pulled back from him, her body angled awkwardly to hide the wand in her hands. She allowed herself a  _ single second  _ for her gaze to linger on his form, hoping with  _ everything in her  _ that he’d be okay. He looked exhausted and broken as he drifted in and out.

_ It made her see red. _

The wand slipped up her sleeve to hide it from view. The tip settled in her palm. Her magic crackled on the surface like electricity,  _ eager  _ to be used. Her blood rushed and her heart pounded and—

_ She fought to keep calm. _

Clarke pushed all of her emotions away and welcomed the  _ nothingness _ that followed. She felt distant. Cold. Empty. Blank.

_ Blank. _

She forced her mind to remain blank, even as her mother locked eyes with her, and even as she felt her presence brush against her mental shields. 

_ Her mother was nothing but thorough and predictable. _

Clarke shoved her chosen memories forward — the feel of Bellamy’s blood soaking through her knees, the comfort his touch brought her, the desperation she felt when she kissed him.

_ She didn’t think about her own Legilimency, used only moments before. _

_ She didn’t think about the wand shoved up her sleeve. _

_ She didn’t think about the instructions she passed to Bellamy — instructions that were going to save his life as soon as she set her plan in motion. _

_ And she sure as hell didn’t think of her plan. _

She thought of the hate she felt from earlier that day — the anger she felt when one of Potter’s friends stunned Murphy, the injustice of not being trusted, the frustration and rage that hit her when Mrs. Weasley threatened to throw them from the Great Hall. 

_ Those were easy memories to conjure and focus on.  _ The emotion was authentic — she  _ had  _ been angry — it  _ was  _ unjust.

Her Occlumency technique worked because, after her mother scanned her thoughts, a slow grin spread across her face — this one less sadistic than the ones before.

“I knew you’d see eventually,” Abby said, her voice warm like honey. She opened her arms wide, inviting her in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

And, despite every cell in her body screaming for her to dive to her knees and help Bellamy, she forged forward.

Clarke stepped over his barely conscious body. She thought back to the power she felt when she was walking through Hogsmeade all those months ago, dressed as her mother. She tilted her chin and threw back her shoulders and relaxed her hands, easily slipping into the role she constructed.

_ Powerful. Confident. Untouchable. _

Clarke stepped into her embrace, winding her own arms around her mother’s middle. She duly noted that she was taller than her now. Her mother smelled less of home and warmth, now smelling like smoke and metal. Her joints were bony and her fingers cold.

“We have work to do,” she promised her, her voice still warm. “Your mind is a  _ mess,  _ sweetie. You’re too ignorant and too naive, still thinking of  _ those filthy vermin  _ as equals.” Her hand petted the top of her head in what Clarke assumed was supposed to be comforting. It made her feel sick. “But that’s okay. It’s not your fault. We’ll work on it together.”

_ Together. _

Clarke’s eyes squeezed shut. A wave of conviction rolled through her as she echoed back the word.

“Together.”

Her hands clasped the material of Abby’s black cloak tightly in her fist. Bellamy’s wand dropped from her sleeve, settling easily into the palm of her hand. Her whole body came to life with magic and purpose and—

She twisted, Apparating both of them away.

_ Griffin Manor disintegrated around them. _

.

She wasn’t sure why she chose this location.

Maybe it was because this was the first place she truly felt safe at after she ran away from home.

Maybe it was because this was where she met him.

Maybe it was because some small part of her wanted to finish this in the ashes of a place that started it all.

Clarke lost her grip on her mother’s robe as soon as the world materialized around them. They split apart, both falling in opposite directions to each other. For a moment, the world was a blur as she rolled, her breath getting knocked out of her lungs and clouds of soot being sent airborne.

She came to a rest when her back smacked against something solid. Clarke sprang to her feet and covered her mouth with her sleeve, her eyes darting everywhere, looking for the tail end of a black cloak moving amongst a blackened world.

The street she Apparated to was  _ very  _ different from the street she walked down last October. It even looked different to what she remembered being shown on television when her and Bellamy had stopped in that Muggle town right before they went on the run. For a moment, Clarke wondered if they landed in the right location or if something had happened or—

Then, she recognized the brick pattern under foot. And, further up the slope she just rolled down, she recognized the colour of the carpet, and the metal detailing of the banister, still partially standing, and—

_ Yes. _

This was the ruins of Kane’s safe house.

Clarke didn’t have time to examine anything. She accidentally Apparated them onto the second storey of the house and, while she rolled down the decimated staircase, her mother had rolled in the opposite direction.

She had to find her.  _ She had to find her and keep her occupied.  _ The only thing standing between her mother and Bellamy was  _ her,  _ and she was not going to let nostalgia for the past prevent her from saving her future.

“Mom!” Clarke yelled, her voice sharp and dangerous. “Mom!”

She stalked forward, her knuckles white from gripping Bellamy’s wand so tightly. While it wasn’t her wand, she could feel it bending to her will — maybe because Bellamy trusted her so much, maybe because it knew this was her only chance, maybe because of something else — she didn’t care.

Her heart pounded in her chest. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve assumed she was here alone, it was so quiet.

_ But she knew better. _

Her mother was here somewhere.

And she was going to find her.

Clarke allowed the hot-white rage wash through her. She sought comfort in the way the wand sparked in response to her fury. She thought back to the way her mother’s knife pressed into Bellamy’s skin, and the way he cried out in pain, and the way he had  _ begged for her to run— _

“You said we were going to work on this together!” Clarke taunted, her voice echoing eerily. She climbed over the rubble of the staircase, her hands clawing at fallen roof tiles and gaining footing on smashed brick. Her chest heaved with rage and exertion and adrenaline and— “Where’s that  _ togetherness  _ now!? Where’s those  _ lessons  _ you were so  _ eager  _ to teach me!?”

No response.

She dug harder.

“You said you were  _ so proud of me —  _ how does it feel to be proud of your filthy blood traitorous daughter!?” 

The ground evened out slightly under her and she assumed she had reached the top of the staircase. Clarke’s gaze darted around the ruins desperately. With the high ground, she could see the wreckage of the whole neighbourhood. The sight made her even more angry.

_ They did this. The war did this. Death Eaters did this. _

They killed innocent Muggles, and they burned their houses, and they  _ killed Kane. _

Kane. Diyoza.

_ They were both dead. _

Clarke’s breathing turned heavy.

“I’m a liar, mom. Leaving home last year was the  _ best fucking decision  _ I’ve ever made! Leaving  _ you  _ and leaving everything behind — that might be the only good thing I’ve done in my life.” Her chest heaved. “I  _ despise  _ you. I  _ hate  _ what you stand for. I  _ hate  _ who you tried to make me become.” 

She whipped her head around once she heard a sound. Her wand lifted and she prepared to strike, but—

It was a piece of metal scraping against a Muggle car parked along the curb. 

She lowered her wand and continued to speak.

“You wanted me to prove my loyalties?” she taunted. “Well here it is;  _ I stand with the Order.  _ I stand for good. I stand with Bellamy Blake, and Raven Reyes, and John Murphy, and Charmaine Diyoza, and Marcus Kane, and  _ Harry Potter.  _ I stand with them all — and we’re  _ all against Voldemort.  _ We’re all against  _ you.”  _ She turned around, her wand lifted, her eyes combing the wreckage. A beat, then,  _ “I’m  _ against you.”

Abby let out a vicious snarl and lunged at Clarke, her wand slashing through the air violently. A long arc swooped towards her through the air — a wave of magic so powerful that Clarke had to jump out of the way. She skidded down the side of the demolished house. Her free hand hooked on what used to be the eavestrough and her wand whipped through the air, sending a stunner in her mother’s direction.

Her mother blocked the attack, but it was expected. Clarke used it as a distraction to clamour back up to the second storey of the house, freeing up both of her hands.

Abby’s lips were pulled back in a snarl. Her eyes were slits and filled with  _ pure hatred.  _ Her hands shook at her sides out of rage.

“You  _ bitch!”  _ she growled, spit flying from her mouth.

“Am I a bitch or a blood traitor?” Clarke wondered, her voice cool. Inside, she was  _ burning  _ with anger. She fought to keep her composure.

“You’re  _ filth,”  _ she hissed. 

They circled each other, much like they did in Knockturn Alley. This time, Clarke was ready. This time, she wasn’t going to let her win.  _ This time, she wasn’t going to run —  _ no matter what.

“Maybe I’m naive like you said, but I’d rather be a filthy blood traitor than be what  _ you  _ are. You’re spineless. You’re violent and sadistic and  _ sick.”  _ Abby’s wand twitched. Clarke remained steady. “I don’t forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” she taunted. “I never apologized!”

“I bet you believe you have nothing to apologize for?”

_ “There we are,  _ dear.  _ Now  _ you’re using your brain.”

Clarke scoffed. “I don’t forgive you for  _ anything,  _ mom — not all the hate you carry, not all the crimes you committed, not all the pain you caused me.  _ You caused me so much pain growing up,  _ but I’m not going to let you hurt me anymore. You’re not going to hurt anyone else.”

She laughed patronizingly. “Oh, what? You think  _ you’re  _ going to be able to control me?  _ You?” _

“No,” she answered honestly. “No, I’m not like you. I don’t want to control. I don’t want to manipulate. I don’t want to  _ win.  _ I want this to stop — all of it.”

Abby’s smile was smug. “You’re going to have to kill me then.”

“Aren’t you listening?  _ I’m not like you. _ I’m not going to kill you — I don’t want that hanging over me, haunting me.” Clarke took a step closer towards her, her eyes flashing and her magic pulsing. “Maybe you can still sleep at night after murdering people,  _ but I can’t.  _ I see their faces every night.  _ I don’t want to see yours.  _ I won’t give you that power over me.” Another step. “We are not the same, mom.”

“You think you’re better than me?”

“Yes. I am. You… You  _ hate  _ people that are different. You’ve  _ killed  _ people because of the purity of the blood in their veins. You’re a monster, mom.”

She scoffed. “Some call me a monster, some call me a saviour. Labels don’t matter — not when I’m doing a  _ service  _ to the world.”

And Clarke knew; nothing she could  _ ever say  _ would change her mother’s mind. She was too far gone and she refused to see anything other than her skewed perspective. She could present her with evidence and argue with her until the sun set and rose again — none of it would make a difference.

_ Abby would never acknowledge that she was wrong. _

It was something she was never able to do, even when Clarke was a kid. Her mom wasn’t apologetic, wasn’t willing to listen, was too self-absorbed to see anything other than what she wanted to see.

_ And that would never change. _

Clarke’s heart twinged slightly, but sadness and grief didn’t wash over her. 

She had known for a long time that her mother was beyond saving.

_ It wasn’t what she was here to do anyways. _

She didn’t bring Abby to the wreckage of an Order safe house to try and convince her to see the light. She didn’t bring her here to get confirmation of what she already knew and had once feared.

_ She brought her here to protect Bellamy. _

The longer she kept her here and talking, the better chance he had at surviving.

“One day you’ll understand,” Abby promised. “One day—”

“You’re wrong,” she said evenly. “You’re cruel and unforgiving and a major dick. I suffered years of your manipulation and your lies and your cruelty, and I will never forgive you for any of that.  _ Never.”  _ She took another step towards her, slowly closing the distance between them. Clarke wasn’t sure if she’d be able to block a curse if her mother was to cast one, but, then again, neither could she. “I’m going to go on and live a  _ good life  _ — better than yours clearly ever was — and that’s because  _ I got out.  _ I saw through all that shit and  _ left.” _

“What? You think you’ll be accepted anywhere but with me? Darkness is in your blood; you saw what’s  _ natural  _ for you when you burned down that building. Once people realize who you  _ truly are,  _ they’ll fear you! You  _ need  _ me, Clarke.  _ You need me. _ ”

Clarke locked her jaw. “No,” she said. “You’re right — dark magic might be  _ natural  _ for me, but I will  _ never  _ use it to harm someone. People  _ know  _ me, mom.  _ People know me more than you ever did.” _

“Your Mudblood friends?” she sneered. “Your half-blood boyfriend? They’re  _ worthless.  _ They’re—”

Clarke’s muscles tightened. She took another step forward, her eyes flashing. “No. You don’t get to talk about them.” 

She hoped that Bellamy managed to get himself somewhere safe because she doubted she’d be able to hold Abby’s attention for much longer.

“I should’ve disowned you long ago,” Abby hissed. “My ungrateful, blood traitorous daughter.” 

“I  _ am  _ a blood traitor.”

“I gave you  _ everything  _ and this is how I’m repaid!?  _ This is the thanks I get!?”  _ Her mother spat in her direction. “I  _ clearly  _ failed as your mother because  _ you don’t understand how the world works.  _ Your childish idiocy is  _ ruining  _ the family name! You don’t deserve to be a Griffin!”

Clarke remembered Murphy’s words from a conversation held in a different safe house in what felt like a different lifetime.

“Would you rather have a dead daughter than a blood traitorous one?”

Her mother’s movements faltered for a second. Her expression gave nothing away.

_ Then, she answered. _

“Yes. I would.”

With those simple words, hell broke loose.

Abby whipped her wand forward, sending a jet of orange light towards Clarke. She dove out of the way, barely keeping herself upright as she sprinted across the rubble. She vaulted over what looked like it used to be a bed and dropped to the ground seconds before a column of fire blasted over her.

She didn’t waste any time in responding. Clarke sucked in several deep breaths and gripped Bellamy’s wand, seeking comfort and power in the way her magic thrummed responsively.

Then, she rolled onto her knees and shot a stunner towards her mother. Narrowly, she avoided another jet of fire, shielding her head under her arms as the flames roared right above her.

“Come on, Clarke!” she taunted. “Quit playing games!”

Again, she jolted up and shot a stunner—

And another—

_ And another— _

_ And— _

Back and forth, they traded spells. Clarke narrowly dodged a purple hex — one that Clarke didn’t know the name of, but could feel the power of as it crackled through her hair.

Abby had circled around and now, instead of being shielded by the bedframe, Clarke was trapped by it. She quickly scrambled to her feet and continued her rapid fire of spells, desperately trying to predict her mother’s movements.

She was like a viper, striking so fast and so viciously that Clarke didn’t have time to  _ breathe,  _ never mind aim. Quickly, she lost control of the battle, shifting from only using offensive magic, to alternating it with defensive magic, to—

Clarke misstepped as she walked backwards, stepping on a loose board instead of solid ground. She sucked in a quick breath and cast one final shield charm before she toppled over the side of the house—

Pain erupted from her shoulder when she landed one floor below.

Her vision grew dizzy.

_ She didn’t have time to think. _

Clarke managed to cast two more shields before she was sent sprinting again, this time headed towards the large tree in the back garden. Her vision tilted sideways. It was a struggle to keep her legs from collapsing. Miraculously, each of Abby’s spells missed her as she ran. They hit the ground beside her with enough force to send dirt flying, each crackling like fire as they flew past her.

It was only when she was pressed against the trunk of the tree that Clarke allowed herself to suck in short breaths and grimace from the pain in her shoulder. She was sure it was dislocated and it  _ ached.  _ Each breath she took made it feel like it was being set aflame.

At least it wasn’t her wand arm.

“Clarke!” Abby screamed, her voice echoing through the empty neighbourhood.  _ “Clarke!” _

She sucked in several deep breaths, but kept herself plastered to the trunk.

_ Think. _

_ She needed to think. _

Her thoughts were swimming, both from pain and adrenaline. Her hands shook. Sweat made her palms slick.

_ And she was losing. _

She lied earlier about not caring if she won.  _ She wanted to win — she really fucking did.  _ She wanted to win, and she wanted to go back to Bellamy, and she wanted to  _ live. _

She wanted to live.

She wanted that future she dreamed about with him.

Abby outpowered her easily. She was quicker and more experienced in battle. The most experience Clarke had was in this very house, when Kane got them to practice battle strategies on Fridays.

It was impossible to do offensive and defensive magic at the same time.  _ Every simulator she ran at Kane’s, Bellamy was at her side.  _ Even though Diyoza made them duel solo, she was never fighting someone this intense and this bloodthirsty.

_ Fuck.  _

Her mother was trying to kill her.

A white-hot column of flames shot past her. She felt the heat wash over her and she knew, a few inches closer, and she would’ve been burned.

_ Seconds. _

She had seconds to think.

Clarke wasn’t going to win based on pure magical ability alone.  _ No,  _ it wasn’t possible, not when she was so exhausted and her mother was so furious. She needed to be smart, and she needed to  _ fucking think,  _ and  _ why wasn’t her brain working!? _

Fuck, fuck, fuck—

Clarke fired a shield at the very last second, blocking another spell. 

She took off sprinting.

And, as she ran, she heard Kane’s words as clear as the first time he said them.

Maybe it was because she was in the ruins of his safe house, or maybe it was because she was delirious with exhaustion — it didn’t matter.

She heard him.

_ ‘Fight smart. Fight like a Muggle.’ _

Clarke was brought back to that first day of training, when her stomach was in knots, and she was overwhelmed, and it felt like she’d never find belonging in this house. It was on that day that he taught her the five basics of battle strategy.

_ Offensive. Defensive. Magical application. Muggle techniques. Teamwork. _

She’d been so caught up with using the first two that she had completely forgotten about the rest of Kane’s lessons.

And so, when she dove over the remains of the burned shed, Clarke  _ finally  _ had a plan.

She pressed her back against the pile, crouched low, and pointed Bellamy’s wand towards the open second floor of Kane’s safe house. With a levitating charm, she ripped the half-melted bed frame from the floor and flung it in the direction of her mother.

Before she could hear the impact of the metal on the ground, Clarke cast another levitating charm on the bathtub half-visible under several planks of charred wood. She grit her teeth and gripped the wand tighter, straining to keep the spell alive, and threw it in the same direction.

The snap of spells from her mother stalled for a moment. With her heart in her throat, Clarke leapt to her feet, swiveling around to point her wand, and—

Abby stood across the yard from her, under the tree she hid behind only moments ago. Both the bed frame and bathtub had missed their marks, but it stunned her enough to stop fighting. Their wands were pointed directly at each other, both of their chests heaving, their eyes wild.

“Enough, Clarke,” her mother snapped. She stalked forward. “You  _ vermin.  _ You  _ traitor.  _ You—”

Clarke had enough.

She altered the projection of Bellamy’s wand, tilting it towards the lowest branch of the tree, and cast one final levitating charm. 

Abby didn’t have time to run, too absorbed with her vengeance to notice the broken branch hurdling towards her.

Her yells abruptly cut short when it crushed her to the ground.

And, for a long moment,  _ it was silent. _

In the distance, birds chirped as the sun rose. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees that remained. The windchime sang from several houses down.

_ But it was silent. _

Clarke sucked in breath after breath. Slowly —  _ slowly —  _ the blood stopped rushing through her ears, and her heart stopped feeling like it was pounding out of her chest, and—

_ Then, she heard it. _

Crying.

Her mother was crying.

Clarke bit down on her tongue and gripped the wand tighter as she approached cautiously. She never heard her mother cry before and, despite everything that had just happened,  _ the sound of someone crying made her chest tighten. _

It was shocking. After all the sharp words, and all the hatred, and all the murder attempts, Abby was now crying for her.

Abby’s wordless wails turned to words as she approached. 

_ “The Dark Lord! The Dark Lord is dead!”  _

Clarke almost laughed at the pure anguish in her voice.

Of course. The only time she’d ever hear her mother cry was not when she lost her daughter, it was when her Dark Lord lost the war.

“You!” Abby thrashed under the tree branch, her eyes animalistic and spit flying from her lips. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you and your  _ filthy  _ Mudblood friends and your—”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Shut up already.”

Her mother only fell silent after she was hit with the red jet of light of a stunner.

And, once again,  _ silence. _

Clarke glanced towards the sky, squinting against the rising sun, taking a single second to herself. The air was turning more comfortable as the day truly began, but the warmth that spread through her wasn’t just from the sun.

If what her mother said was true,  _ then the war was over. _

The war was over and they won.

She glanced back at the unconscious body of her mother, and, for a fleeting moment, Clarke wondered if it was the right choice keeping her alive. She had caused so much destruction and killed so many.

And it was with that reason in mind that assured Clarke that she was making the right decision. She’d be put on trial and charged for her crimes, and he’d spend the rest of her life paying for what she did.

_ Justice was a far worse fate than death for Abby Griffin. _

.

“Bellamy!?”

She was calling for him before the room fully appeared before her. The blur of her childhood bedroom quickly shifted into something real, yet those few seconds felt excruciatingly long. Once she felt the tiles under her shoes and smelt the horrible scent of dust, she was moving, leaving the unconscious body of her mother in the doorway.

“Bell!?”

She scanned the room frantically, not seeing him anywhere at first. But then —  _ then —  _ she saw the smear of blood across the floor, moving from where she left Bellamy laying to—

_ Her bed. _

Clarke’s feet moved on their own accord. Her head was fuzzy and light, making her feel like she was floating. She was filled with dread and fear and hope —  _ always this fucking hope.  _ Her hands shook and her stomach swooped and—

—she rounded the corner of the bed and—

_ —there. _

Bellamy was propped up against her old bed, his blood staining the emerald green sheets and blankets behind him. He looked horrible, with blood running down his chin, and his torso soaked with the same substance, and his hands limp at his sides, and— yet—

His eyes met hers.

Her throat closed around her breath and a shock swept through her whole body, turning her blood to ice and making her hands shake and causing her knees to nearly buckle.

Clarke’s vision blurred and she swiped away the tears urgently, not wanting anything to distort this moment.

_ This moment. _

Bellamy was alive.

_ He was alive, and he was here, and— _

She sprinted forward and fell to the ground beside him, sobs forcefully ripping from her chest. She couldn’t see, but really, did she need to? She  _ felt  _ him — his skin warm with life, and his heart pounding against his chest, and his breath washing steadily against her face.

No words needed to be said either.

His hands were everywhere — running down her back, and grabbing her waist, and touching her hair, and cupping her jaw, and—

_ His lips were warmer than they were earlier.  _ This kiss was steadier too, filled with desperation, and hope, and elation, and life.

_ They were both alive. _

Clarke sobbed as they broke apart. She couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t think properly. All she could think about was  _ him  _ and  _ them  _ and  _ this  _ — this moment, and this bliss, and this  _ everything. _

Her hands ran across his chest, mimicking the urgency his own hands had. She touched everywhere — the nape of his neck, and the dampness of his curls, and the strength of his arms, and—

“Bellamy,” she coked out, finally managing to get her tongue to work. She blinked rapidly to clear her tears. “Bell, I—”

_ She didn’t know what to say. _

She doubted there were enough words in the world to convey exactly what she was feeling in that moment.

So, she showed him.

Their lips met again. Softer. Warmer. Steadier. His hands swept across her shoulders and gripped her back with a tenderness she forgot she even craved. Each movement was so achingly familiar, yet so  _ new  _ that it made her cries start up all over again.

“I love you,” he mumbled, speaking for the first time. 

She echoed his words. 

“I love you, too. _ I love you so much.” _

His lips left hers, but he kept his hands on her cheeks, holding her steady. Her fingers curled along his forearm, desperate to keep the contact going a  _ moment  _ longer. Bellamy’s eyes swept her face and her body, examining her for any obvious injuries — or, maybe, he was simply drinking her in, as she was doing with him.

As he studied her, she studied him. Her fingers brushed across his face, mapping out his freckles, and feeling the curves of his cheekbones, and running along the sharpness of his jaw, all while pointedly avoiding the injuries he bore. Her fingertips ghosted along his lips and his breath washed over her.

_ He was alive. _

“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked, his voice hoarse.

“I will be.” 

_ Being okay would come later.  _ For now, all that mattered was the breaths in their chest and the beat of their hearts. 

Her touch was featherlight as she reached to brush across his torso. His clothing was still soaked in blood, but the flow had been stopped. Her throat tightened. “You understood my message.”

He had heard her, even though it looked as though he was already half-dead.  _ He had understood her when she shoved the memory of the potion in her desk at him. _

“You’re brilliant,” he praised. He winced as she accidentally used too much force to brush one of his wounds. She pulled away abruptly. “The potion was where you showed me.”

And, while the potion wasn’t perfect and didn’t whisk away all of his injuries, it helped. It stopped the blood gushing from his injuries and kept him alive long enough for her to get back.

_ He was alive. _

They both had a million questions and too much to say, but that would come later. With the potion sealing his wounds, she knew healing them would come later too.

For now, they were okay.

For now, they could just  _ be. _

Their foreheads pressed together and they simply  _ breathed. _

For the first time for as long as she could remember,  _ she could fucking breathe. _

There was a lot that she missed about Bellamy — too much to list — but  _ this  _ was one thing; the intimacy that came with being curled against him, her hair falling down to shield them from the outside, breathing together as if they were the only two people in the world.

She felt something in her soul click back into place.

_ She was home. _

.

Hogwarts’ wards were still down.

For the first time that day, Clarke was thankful for this.

The world slowly formed around her — stone under her feet, and smoke in the air, and the distant sounds of celebration. They acted like smaller pieces to a puzzle, all sliding together to form the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts.

There was one constant that she clung to, even as Griffin Manor disappeared and Hogwarts formed —  _ Bellamy’s hand.  _ She clutched it like their lives depended on it and, maybe it did, because he held hers with just as much strength.

They Apparated right outside the Great Hall doors, in the middle of the wrecked vestibule. It truly was destroyed; scorch marks dotted the walls from poorly aimed blasts and pieces of the stone walls were loose under their shoes — but it was  _ standing  _ and—

_ It would remain standing for a while longer. _

The battle was finished. The war was won.

If Clarke had any doubts on this, they were extinguished when she heard the sounds of a celebration just around the bend of the corridor. Chants of  _ ‘Potter, Potter, Potter’  _ echoed through the otherwise empty castle.

And they stood, hand in hand, as they soaked in the rest of the world — the chaos, the celebration, the peace.

_ The peace. _

For the first time in a long time, the silence that filled the empty halls wasn’t eerie and terrifying — not like it once was. It was soothing and tranquil.

_ Or, maybe that was just because of the man at her side. _

Bellamy was the one to break the silence. His thumb swept along the back of her hand and he let out a breathless laugh.

“It’s done. It’s  _ really  _ done.”

Before Clarke had a chance to respond, a vaguely familiar wizard in dark purple robes rounded the corner. His eyes swept across her and Bellamy before coming to rest on her mother, still unconscious at their feet.

“Kingsley,” Bellamy greeted. He didn’t drop Clarke’s hand like she expected him to. Instead, he hobbled forward, guiding her with him. “Good to see you.”

“You as well, Blake.” They met part way and shook hands.

As they exchanged pleasantries, Clarke had to fight the urge to laugh. After  _ months  _ of hearing of the great Kingsley — one of the heads of the Order — this was the first time she was meeting him. He was less intimidating than she imagined, with friendly eyes and a warm smile.

Then again, maybe that was because she just stared death in the face and won. 

_ Not much felt intimidating at that moment. _

Kingsley’s eyes turned to hers, his smile never wavering. “You must be Clarke Griffin. We heard a lot about you.”

She smiled as Bellamy grew awkward. His cheeks tinted pink and his eyes widened and—

She stopped his growing bashfulness with a quick squeeze of the hand.

“Hi.” She met his handshake as Bellamy did. “I’ve heard a lot about you too. It’s nice to finally put a face to the infamous name.”

His gaze dropped to the unconscious body of her mother, still laying in the spot they arrived at. The joy melted away the slightest bit, showing the weariness and exhaustion from the battle for the first time.

“She should be out for a while still,” Clarke assured him, thinking about the amount of power she put into that final stunner. She’d be surprised if her mother would be waking up any time before sunset.

Kingsley blew out a long sigh and glanced towards the destroyed doors behind them, looking into the still-burning courtyard. Bodies littered the ground, both Potter’s fighters and Death Eaters alike strewed across the cobblestone.

“The celebration can wait,” he decided. “Someone’s got to make sure these Death Eaters are put into custody.”

Clarke couldn’t stop herself from asking. “What’s going to happen to them?” Suddenly afraid he’d get the wrong idea by her asking, she continued, “I mean… The Ministry was under Voldemort’s reign. We don’t know who to trust. Azkaban was emptied. The Dementors were brought to Hogwarts. What happens after this?”

His shoulders pushed back the slightest bit. “We start from scratch. The world’s in chaos right now, but we’re going to need a strong leader to start us in the right direction.”

Bellamy lifted his eyebrows. “Like you?”

“Someone more qualified than me.”

He laughed. “Kingsley, I can’t imagine anyone else better for the job. You organized the safe houses, and kept a group of us alive, and helped run Potterwatch — not to mention all the missions you went on and didn’t tell us about. You’re more than qualified.”

Kingsley laughed and clapped Bellamy on the back. “You have a good sense of humor, Blake.” 

_ (As it turned out, the rest of the Wizarding World agreed with Bellamy. Only a few hours later, Kingsley was transferred emergency powers and became the new Minister of Magic.) _

He gestured to the hall. “Get on in there. You two deserve a drink.”

Clarke couldn’t argue with that.

But, before she could allow herself to get lost in the wave of relief and excitement, she had to check.

“And my mother?”

“I’ll take her from here.” He looked at her with the slightest bit of pity. “I’m sorry, Miss Griffin, but she’ll be placed in Azkaban and put under trial for her crimes. There’s a chance you won’t see her again.”

“Good. Let’s hope for that.”

_ Clarke didn’t look back once. _

They traded nods before Clarke helped guide Bellamy towards the Great Hall. With each step away from her mother, she felt lighter — like the weight of the world was slowly being lifted off of her shoulders.

_ And, in a way, it was. _

It was with Bellamy’s arm snuggly around her shoulders that they entered the Great Hall. She could feel him wincing every few steps, and Clarke reminded herself to double check that all the healing spells were holding later that night.

And it was in that moment that it hit her.

_ There would be a ‘later.’ _

_ He was here and he was alive. They were together and they were safe.  _ There would be a ‘tonight’ and a ‘tomorrow’ and a ‘later’ and—

A future.

They were guaranteed a future. 

With that thought on her mind, they crossed the threshold of the Great Hall and were swept into the celebration. Clarke’s eyes immediately scanned the hall for the only other two people she truly worried about — Murphy and Raven. She spotted them almost instantly, with Murphy’s denim overalls standing out against the sea of black Hogwarts’ robes. Raven laid on a stretcher still, her torso wrapped with white bandages, but  _ she was alive  _ and  _ laughing.  _ They both were.

It was a beautiful sight to Clarke, who couldn’t help but smile. She tugged Bellamy closer.

“Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That they were together.”

Bellamy pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. When he spoke, his lips ghosted against her skin. “No. Did you?”

“No!”

He laughed. “Merlin, we were so absorbed with ourselves that we missed what was right in front of us.”

“Yeah, well, Murphy’s always been a good liar. Fucking snake,” she mumbled. Bellamy rolled his eyes at her antics. Her gaze was drawn across the hall, to where McGonagall stood alongside a handful of students. She hummed. “I didn’t realize your sister was close with her.”

“Neither did I.” They both watched as Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Octavia all passed a bottle of alcohol back and forth. McGonagall pointedly ignored their antics, but she couldn’t hide the small smirk on her lips. “There’s a lot that changed since we were all together like this.”

She knew he wasn’t meaning just the two of them, although a lot had changed since the last time they were at Diyoza’s together.

A lot had changed since the last time they all stood in the Great Hall. It had nearly been a year since they stood in this room for one of the last feasts of the year. The world had been dark with looming thoughts of brewing war. Clarke had been unsure of her future, knowing that as soon as she left the castle, she was going to be forced to live a life she didn’t want. While she didn’t know exactly what Bellamy had been thinking a year ago, she knew that he had been worried too — with his mom’s death fresh and the added responsibility of caring for his sister during the war, she knew that he didn’t want summer to come either.

And, beyond that, the world had been dark. The future was one nobody wanted. People were terrified and worried and hopeless.

_ That was a stark contrast to this —  _ the celebrating, the drinking, the unity.

Despite the house benches being brought back into the room, nobody sat in separate houses; the red robes of Gryffindors were mixed with the blue of Ravenclaws, and the yellow of Hufflepuffs, and—

_ Green. _

There was a significantly lower number of green robes around the Great Hall, but there were more than what Clarke expected.  _ More Slytherins stayed to fight than she realized. _

Draco Malfoy sat with the Greengrass sisters — Daphne and Astoria — near the front. Slughorn sat beside three older students — students that had been in Bellamy’s year — that she recognized from her house. 

“I thought the younger students had been evacuated out,” she mumbled, her eyes sweeping the hall.

“Some Gryffindors snuck back in,” Bellamy said. “I found a few of their bodies in the courtyard.”

Despite that horrible news, she couldn’t help but smile at the image in front of her. “It looks like it wasn’t just your Gryffindors, Bell. I see younger Slytherins here, too.”

And, sure enough, many of the students in green were younger than her.

Miller, a wizard in the year below her, sat beside another wizard in yellow robes, their hands clasped together. And, at the next table was Emori, and Ilian, and—

It made her throat tighten.  _ She hadn’t been alone.  _ It was what she told Harper mere hours ago — she had never been alone — but this proved it. Despite what people liked to think of their house, Slytherin played their part in the war — a part that was bigger than just being the enemy. She knew they’d have a long way to go, but this moment was proof that there was hope.

_ Hope. _

Maybe that concept wasn’t as bullshit as she thought.

“Bellamy!” A Gryffindor Clarke didn’t know the name of came jogging over to them, two drinks in her hands. “Here,” she said, passing him his drink. 

Bellamy took it, took a quick sip from it, before handing Clarke the glass. The girl’s smile fell only a sliver from his action.

Bellamy leaned into her side. “Clarke, this is Bree. She’s in my sister’s year.” Clarke took a slow sip from the glass, her eyes peering at her over the rim. “Thanks for the drink.” Clarke lifted their glass in a silent thanks.

“Yeah, sure. Anything for you, Bell.” Her eyes darted to Clarke’s. “Griffin.”

When she was out of ear-shot from her, Clarke simply pursed her lips. “Merlin, I forgot how many witches were falling over themselves to talk to you.”

“Hm.” He leaned closer to her, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Jealous?”

She laughed. “Absolutely not. Someone once told me that green wasn’t my colour.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Princess.”

_ “Slytherin  _ Princess,” she corrected.

“Mm, that’s right.  _ My  _ Slytherin Princess.” Bellamy pressed a chaste kiss to her temple before they were interrupted by another group of people.

Clarke was prepared to get glares and cold shoulders — she was less prepared for the cautious handshakes and the calculating glances.

It was awkward.

Bellamy noticed her unease.

“You know, people are going to come around and see how special you are.”

Clarke laughed dryly at that. “People are only looking in my direction because you’re beside me. I’m just known as ‘the Slytherin who a Gryffindor fell in love with.’ It’s not like people trust me or my house.”

Bellamy didn’t comment immediately. “One day, they’ll understand. They’ll look at you and see  _ you  _ for who you are, and they’ll trust you because of what you’ve done. People will come around. I did.”

_ So much had changed since then. _

Clarke thought back to those early days at Kane’s, when they were hostile, and hateful, and wrong —  _ so, so wrong.  _ She thought about all the fights, and misunderstandings, and the apologies, and the  _ slow, slow  _ build they had towards this.

_ This —  _ this truce, this trust, this understanding, this partnership, this  _ love. _

They weren’t the same people they were when they first met.

_ Clarke couldn’t be more grateful. _

The cautious glances and the wary approaches and the disconnect between houses — those were all problems for another day.

For now, she was just happy that they were alive, and they were together, and  _ she was home. _

_ Finally.  _

_ She was home. _

“What now?” Clarke wondered out loud.

“Now?”

“The war’s over,” she mumbled. “We could do anything we want.”

“Anything we want?” Bellamy’s voice was warm and soft, causing her stomach to fill with butterflies. “Well, I want you, Clarke Griffin.”

She turned to him slowly, unable to fight the smile pulling at her lips and unable to stop the warmth spreading from her chest. Their eyes locked and she felt her heart skip a beat.

“You have me,” she promised.  _ “You have me.” _

As Clarke and Bellamy’s lips met for a tender kiss, Clarke decided that all that really mattered was  _ this moment. _

They had plenty of time to worry about what came after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone guess what movie I was thinking of while writing this chapter?
> 
> Almost at the end! I’ll get sappy at the end of next chapter, don’t worry. If you’ve read any of my other multi-chapter fics, you’ll know juuuuuust how sappy and sentimental I get.
> 
> (the epilogue will be posting within the next few days!)
> 
> Thank you for reading this MONSTER of a chapter!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are SOOOOOO appreciated!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  
> 


	44. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m putting some thank yous up here because I’m emotional:
> 
> One final thank you specifically to Jen and Lai who have been my supports through this whole fic. This wouldn’t have been possible without either of you <3
> 
> Another special thank you to all the wonderful people on Twitter who hyped me up WAY TOO MUCH for this fic. I’ll never be able to name all of them, and tbh I’m scared to try in case I accidentally miss someone (because, let’s be honest, my mind is very frazzled right now). Just know that if you ever interacted with me on Twitter, or live-tweeted your reactions, or messaged me, or WHATEVER - I appreciate you and love you so much. Let me document somewhere that its absolutely wild that ?? there’s a group chat ?? of a bunch of you ?? dedicated to screaming about this fic?? WILD. 
> 
> AND a shout out to Bellarke Big Bang 2019 for being the event that started this fic! pmit was always meant to be around 20k and 10 chapters long (and finished in July 2019). Clearly that didn’t happen. Thank you to Chloe for being so wonderful and letting me have free reign over the timeline. (Sorry for being such a bad participant haha.) My wonderful artist who I paired with also deserves all the thanks because their art was so inspiring and beautiful and a wonderful inclusion in this fic -- thank you nikitajobson <3
> 
> o k a y. Those are all the thank yous for now. I’m a softie.
> 
> **ENJOY THE CHAPTER!**

**_CLARKE_ **

_ Summer. 1998. _

“Down!”

Clarke dove towards the ground, her heart pounding and her blood rushing. As it often did, the world grew distant around her — it was only her, the wood against her palms, the whiz of the wind through her robes, and the sensation of free-fall.

Sweat trickled down her neck, pulling stray strands of her hair to her skin. Her robes clung to her body. Her arms shook from a mixture of adrenaline and exertion. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air. 

_ It was beautiful.  _

She maneuvered her broom up from the dive just in time to catch the Quaffle in her hands. She shoved the ball under her arm and rolled, narrowly avoiding a well-aimed Bludger. Her hair streamed behind her as she raced across the Quidditch pitch, her eyes locked on the goal hoops in the distance.

Clarke didn’t bother keeping an eye out for incoming Bludgers. Murphy had done a good job at keeping the high-speed balls away from her and Raven as they passed the Quaffle back and forth down the pitch.

The game was tight, going back and forth rapidly. They were evenly matched on both sides and the fun game quickly turned intense and competitive. Clarke was exhausted — she wasn’t too sure how long they’d been playing for, but she was sure it was more than a few hours at this point.

She only made it part way up the pitch before someone collided into her side, jostling her and pushing her off balance. She attempted to shove back and gain space, but the Quaffle was batted out of her grasp. Angelina Johnson zoomed underneath her, grabbing the falling ball mid-air, and took off in the direction she came from.

Her chest was heaving when she jolted to a stop, keeping her broom hovering midair. “What the fuck, Blake!”

“Ah, back to last names, are we?” Bellamy countered, pulling to a stop right in front of her. 

His hair was tousled and cheeks flushed from the wind.  _ And his grin.  _ It was one she recognized well — he often looked like this when he beat her at Mario Kart. There was something about his smug and cocky expression that thrilled her.

“You’re a cheat,” she accused, which wasn’t a lie. He  _ knocked  _ the ball from her grasp by reaching across her body — that was in violation of the rules.

“Like your team is so innocent! Murphy caught the Quaffle himself last quarter and you—”

“He hasn’t played before! Give him a break!”

“Oh, right, like the wizard who grew up watching professional Quidditch doesn’t know the rules.” Bellamy scoffed. Both of their eyes danced with mirth, revelling in the easy banter. “Face it, Griffin.  _ We’re all cheaters.  _ You should know the feeling well, considering you slipped laxatives into Gryffindor’s—”

“Oh, Merlin, will you ever let that go?!” Clarke groaned. “That was  _ years  _ ago, Blake! Plus, there is nothing in the rulebook that says  _ assisting  _ your opponents with digestive issues isn’t allowed.”

“You’re a cheater, Griffin.”

“I’m  _ creative.”  _

“Well, consider me knocking the Quaffle from your hands a creative strategy.” Bellamy winked at her. She stuck out her tongue. “All is fair in love and Quidditch.”

“Ha!” she snorted. “That’s rich. You’re starting to sound like a true Slytherin, Blake.”

“I learned from the best.” Clarke slammed her hip against his, throwing his broom off balance. Bellamy let out a tiny yelp and grasped the wood, frantically working to steady it. “Hey!”

“All is fair in love and Quidditch,” she echoed.

“You’re funny,” Bellamy dryly said.

“I think the word you’re looking for is  _ fantastic.”  _ Clarke wiped the sweat from her brow and grinned at him. “This is the third week in the row where my team is winning!”

“In my defence, Alicia’s never played Keeper before.”

“In my defence, Murphy’s never played Beater before.” They both glanced in his direction. He flew around the pitch without any concept of danger, swinging his bat wildly at any incoming Bludger. “He’s a prodigy!”

“He’s dangerous.”

“You’re just jealous.”

A small cheer came from up the pitch, drawing both Bellamy and Clarke’ direction. Angelina and Fred were celebrating together, having just scored a point on Clarke’s net.

“Looks like your streak will be coming to an end today,” he taunted. “Let me remind you that my team is  _ full  _ of Gryffindor alumni, Griffin. Do you need a reminder on which house has won more Quidditch Cups?”

“You’re despicable.”

“Yeah, well, you are  _ extremely fucking sexy.”  _ Bellamy’s grin turned wicked. Their playful argument dropped — she could feel the shift in the air between them. Her stomach swooped and her mouth ran dry. Her eyes dropped to his lips momentarily. “Here’s a promise to you, Princess, once we’re off these brooms and back inside—”

She grinned mischievously. “There’s no rules against kissing on the pitch, Blake.” The air between them was charged with a promise and want.

Clarke desperately wanted the space between them to vanish. She wanted to be pressed against him, kissing him breathless, sucking bruises into his neck.

“I’m not talking about  _ kissing,”  _ he said, his voice low and filled with so much promise. 

Her eyes raked along his body appreciatively, taking in the dips of his collarbones, and the way sweat beaded down his neck, and the way his hair seemed to  _ call  _ her fingers to rake through it, and the way his eyes grew dark with desire, and—

“Please, for the love of all things good, keep it in your pants for ten more minutes, Griffin!” Murphy demanded from across the pitch.

Clarke caught sight of the group of their friends making their way back up the field. This time it was Raven, her partner in this game, who had the Quaffle under her arm and was flying in the direction of Bellamy’s goals.

“Duty calls, Blake.” She inched away from him, still not letting her gaze drop from his form. She was almost tempted to throw the towel in and jump him right there. But, then again, she was  _ very fucking competitive when it came to Quidditch.  _ She resisted that temptation. “Try to keep your head in the game, hm?”

Bellamy grinned. “Save room in the shower for me.”

They both flew off to join the game.

.

Clarke never expected to inherit Griffin Manor.

When she fled this place during the war, she knew she was leaving everything behind. She left her possessions, her family, her status, her wealth, and everything that came with being the heir to the Griffin family. She knew she’d never see the heirlooms promised to her, she’d never inherit the manor when she married, she’d never be buried with the last name  _ Griffin  _ scrawled across her tombstone.

She didn’t care. She willingly sacrificed all of that  _ just to get the fuck out.  _ She’d do it all again, too, if it meant she ended up at Kane’s again. There wasn’t a single hesitation; she’d give up  _ everything  _ to leave the side of the war she was raised on.

Except, as it turned out, she didn’t give up anything.

It was a week after Voldemort fell that she was pulled into McGonagall’s office to speak with Kingsley. With her mother being sentenced to life in Azkaban,  _ she  _ was being named as the head of the Griffin family, as outlined in her father’s will. Despite everything that happened, her mother never officially disowned her. 

_ She was still a Griffin. _

It was strange, walking into a place that held so much darkness. The walls were filled with ghosts of her past. She was haunted by bad memories — some more fresh than others.

(She avoided the west wing of the house, desperate to never think about the battle and what it felt like to see the man she loved under the blade of her mother.)

(Besides, the east wing of the house, which was usually reserved for guests, had a better view of the gardens.)

(It was easier to move on from the war when she wasn’t living in the same room that she almost lost Bellamy in.)

Griffin Manor was supposed to be her home, but she never felt more alone.

The home was huge — way bigger than she’d ever need. It was three storeys high and had a library twice the size of Diyoza’s house. Ballrooms, sitting rooms, parlours, gardens, tea rooms, music rooms, bedrooms — it was ridiculously large and dramatic.

_ She never felt more suffocated. _

She was a different person than the previous summer. She wasn’t a frightened kid anymore. She wasn’t hiding from the war. She didn’t ignore the wrongs of her parents and her friends. Walking the halls again made her feel tense and nauseous.

It wasn’t just her past haunting her, it was her mother and her path that followed her, too. Dark items littered the house, ranging from things that made her stomach twist to dangerous goods that would kill her if she breathed on them wrong. 

It took her awhile to figure out what to do with many of the items; they were too dangerous to leave around the house, but they were too dangerous to give away if they fell into certain hands. The war was a fresh reminder that the government wasn’t impenetrable; she couldn’t give the items to their dark arts division out of fear they’d be used. 

It resulted in her filling the south wing of the library and locking it with as many charms she could think of. By the end of the process,  _ she  _ couldn’t even access the damned room, never mind anyone else.

Slowly, the manor shifted from a place being filled with ghosts and nightmares to being a skeleton filled with potential.

Still, she knew this place would never feel like home.

_ She learned long ago that home wasn’t a place; home was with her people. _

Griffin Manor would never be her home.

_ Her home was with Bellamy. _

It would always be with Bellamy.

Her friends helped more than she could say. Murphy was the one to suggest they have a bonfire party, where they happily burned pieces of the past they left behind, like the Death Eater robes that his father left for him and the green sheets stained with Bellamy’s blood, and the door that kept Clarke locked in her room for weeks. Raven was the one who suggested turning the back field into a full sized Quidditch pitch; something they used almost daily now. And Bellamy—

_ Bellamy. _

—he was the one to help fill the place with memories of laughter and family and warmth. It didn’t replace the old memories — she doubted the dark memories in Griffin Manor would ever get replaced — but it helped.

_ It helped. _

It helped, but it would never be enough to make Griffin Manor feel like home. She’d never feel at peace here.

She clung to moments of peace when they came though.

Moments like feeling the wind whipping her hair as she dove for the Quaffle, or flirting with Bellamy on the Quidditch field, or celebrating with her team after yet another win.

Moments like waking up against Bellamy’s side to the smell of burning food, or walking into the kitchens to see Murphy struggling to use the appliances, or eating all together in one of the repurposed sitting rooms.

Moments like watching Raven jokingly dance across the large ballroom alone, or watching Murphy press a mockingly wet kiss to the side of her face, or discussing wedding plans with Lee and Alicia when they visited.

She relished the small things in life; like the feeling of cold tile against her feet, and steam curling into her lungs, and hot water soothing her aching muscles after a grueling game.

Clarke tipped her head back, allowing the warm water to soak her hair. A shuddering breath left her lungs as she relaxed into the stream. Hot showers were one of the simple pleasures in life; a pleasure that she was going to take advantage as often as she could.

Minutes after she had stepped into the shower, the bathroom door clicked open. She kept her eyes firmly shut against the stream of water, but she couldn’t stop her lips from curling up, nor could she stop the way butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

“Looks like you’re going to need to talk to your team, Blake,” Clarke taunted playfully. She blinked the water from her eyes and pushed her hair off her forehead. “You lost  _ again.  _ And you used illegal moves during the match. What was that about Gryffindors being better Quidditch players?”

She could see Bellamy’s silhouette moving through the frosted shower glass. Her lip found its way between her teeth as she watched him shrug his Quidditch robe off his shoulders and tug his shirt over his head. Her heart fluttered and her breathing grew shallow with anticipation.

“It isn’t my fault that the Quidditch Captain of the other team is fantastic,” he said, his voice like liquid gold. Clarke smothered a laugh and felt her body warm with praise. “She’s a brilliant Chaser. Very skilled with a broom and  _ extremely  _ witty on the field. Beautiful, too.”

“If you’re trying to impress her, no need. I hear she’s already  _ thoroughly _ impressed by you.”

“Is she?” 

He pulled the shower door open and stepped in. The steam curled around his body. Clarke’s gaze dropped to his bare chest, studying the curves of his muscles and the dips of his flesh. She’d once again grown familiar with the scars littering his skin — both old and new. 

Clarke swallowed thickly and locked eyes with him. She cocked an eyebrow. “She is.”

Despite the shower being large enough for both of them to fit comfortably, he stalked forward, quickly closing the gap between them. Her breath caught in her throat. She desperately wanted to meet him in the middle and kiss him breathless, but there was something appealing that came with being chased — that came with being desired like this.

“Good. Don’t tell her, but I’m  _ wildly  _ in love with her.” Bellamy stopped a few inches short of reaching her. Clarke’s body was buzzing with anticipation. Her heart was thrumming in her chest. Warmth flooded her veins.

She couldn’t take this anymore. Clarke surged forward and captured his lips with hers, her arms winding around his shoulders, her fingers diving into his curls. He responded immediately, as if he had been waiting for her to pounce. His lips were desperate against hers. His fingers dug beautifully into her hips, dragging both of their bodies flush together. Her heart was pounding and her body felt warm with want. 

Her fingers trailed over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling the taunt muscles underneath. Water beads broke as her fingers ran along his skin, tracing each scar, her nails biting into places that made his breath stutter. Her stomach swooped at how his body reacted to her touches, fire immediately coming alight in her core.

His hands grazed against her skin. The movement was slick and easy from the water, sending shivers down her spine. She bit back a moan as his grip tightened around her waist. She wanted his hands to go lower  _ and lower and lower.  _ His teeth pulled at her bottom lip and she arched into his chest in response.

“I think she knows,” she managed to get out as soon as the kiss broke, still playing along. Bellamy trailed kiss after kiss down the column of her throat, his movements almost feather light compared to the force she was craving. “I think your Quidditch Captain knows you’re crushing on her.”

Their eyes locked as he pulled away from her; his stare was intense, his eyes wide and pupils blown. Water beaded and rolled down his curls and she had to fight the temptation to crash her lips against his.

“I was never good at being subtle.”

His head dipped towards her body again, never severing the eye contact. His tongue darted out and licked a slow stripe up the valley of her breasts, making her breath catch and grip tighten.

Suddenly, she wasn’t able to form any words.

All she could think about was him; his warm hands, his firm touches, his confident smirks. Pleasure coiled deep inside of her, building with each of his movements.  _ She wanted him.  _ She wanted him to press her against the wall, to suck bruises into her skin, to thrust into her until the water turned cold.

Bellamy pressed his mouth against her breast again, his movement this time slower and more measured than before. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders and her head rolled back, relishing in the waves of pleasure that flowed through her.

Clarke hadn’t realized just how close to the shower wall they’d gotten until the cold tile was pressing into her back. Her head snapped up and she let out a little yelp from the sudden change. Bellamy withdrew, his expression morphed into concern.

“I’m fine,” she told him before he could ask. Her fingers tightened needily and she arched her body towards his touch. “More. Please, Bellamy.”

“No need to beg, Princess.”

She could feel his smirk against her flesh when he returned to her body. His fingers dragged down her sides as he kissed his way south. Her shallow breaths hitched as his fingers dug into her hips and as his lips brushed against her inner thigh.

When his tongue met her core, she melted against the cool tile, her eyes sliding shut. A low groan came from low in her throat before she stifled it by biting on her lip. Clarke’s body pressed against the tile to keep herself upright, her legs feeling unsteady from Bellamy’s mouth. 

His hand curled under her knee before throwing her leg over his shoulder, giving him better access. While his one hand gripped her hip to help keep her steady, his other moved to her centre, his finger pressing in all the right places.

Clarke’s head fell back to hit the tile. His name left her lips like a plea.  _ “Bellamy.”  _ Her fingers threaded through his hair. “Good.  _ So good.” _

Her mind grew foggy. All she could think about was the pleasure coursing through her. Everything else fell away.

He knew her body well from all the months spent together. He knew exactly where to press to make her shake, he knew how she liked to be touched, knew how to hold her on the edge or push her over. When his two fingers slid into her and curled in  _ just  _ the right way, she came undone, his name a constant as she did.

_ “Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy—” _

He allowed her leg to fall from his shoulders as he pulled away. Her chest heaved as she basked in the aftermath of her high. She blinked away the water again and glanced down at Bellamy on his knees in front of her, looking absolutely wrecked. Despite just coming, she desperately wanted to crawl onto her own knees and sink into his lap.

Her gaze dropped to admire his body, greedily drinking in the sight of him. His heaving chest and dark eyes made her heart race and stomach flip. She studied the water running down his chest. Bellamy Blake on his knees, soaking wet, was  _ a really big fucking turn on.  _

Then again, when was he not one?

She wanted to see him fall apart against her, she wanted to draw out his moans, wanted to make him breathless.

Bellamy moved forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her hip. Their eyes locked. His lips curled and his eyes had a confident glint to them.  _ She wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.  _

“Louder,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “You can be louder.”

Clarke cocked her eyebrow in challenge. “Make me, Blake.”

That must’ve been the right thing to say. His eyes darkened with desire and the muscles along his jaw rippled. She knew this expression well. He was determined.

Her body tingled with promise.

When he got to his feet, he pressed against her, trapping her to the wall. Her heart raced and want pooled in her stomach. She caught a glimpse of his expression — his eyes intense and his cheeks flushed. She rolled her hips into his, desperate for some contact.

He cut off his own moan by pressing a searing kiss to her lips, stealing all air from her body. Her hum of contentment turned into a choked gasp when his hands dipped to the junction of her inner thighs from behind, pulling their cores flush together.

Bellamy’s kisses were deep, his tongue expertly running along her lip and meeting hers. Heat was quickly coiling in her core again from his hands and his mouth. The want pulsing through her was almost unbearable.

He kissed along her jaw and mouthed her neck below her ear, making her melt against him. His teeth nipped at her earlobe. His voice was breathy.

“Do you want me, Clarke?”

She could tell by the tone of his voice that he already knew.

Fuck him and his wrecked voice and his sexy cockiness and his lips that made her bones turn to liquid.

His hands pressed into her ass, making her squirm with want. Again, he asked, “Clarke. Do you want me?”

_ “Yes.”  _ She panted for breath and tried to roll her hips against his. “Want you, Bell, really, really want you.” Her fingers dragged along his back. “Fuck me,  _ please.” _

She heard his breath get trapped at that. She was too far gone to be smug about it.

His hand ran up the underside of her leg, guiding her foot to hook around his back. He pulled away from her ever so slightly to line himself up with her. Clarke grasped his shoulders and inched forward, desperate for him.  _ Finally,  _ he pushed forward, sinking into her.

Clarke let out a groan. She fought to keep her eyes open, wanting to see him —  _ only him.  _ Bellamy’s eyes fluttered shut and his jaw went slack. His breath came out of him as a shaky groan, sparking warmth deeper inside her.

When he was fully inside of her, his eyes opened. His fingers tightened on her flesh, biting perfectly into her hip and thigh. In this position, with her pinned against the wall, she didn’t have much room to push onto him, leaving her writhing and gasping.

She knew what he wanted. He wanted to hear her  _ beg  _ for more. She could feel him straining to keep himself from moving into her. They knew they were both equally desperate for this.

Clarke managed a weak and breathy laugh. “So much for— for not needing to beg, huh, Bell—”

His hips snapped back. Her words stuttered. When he pushed into her again, she let out an embarrassingly loud moan, having been caught off guard.

“Fuck you,” she gasped, feeling his smirk against her neck. Her nails dug into his shoulder. “Fuck—”

“Mhmm.” Bellamy’s hot breath washed over her throat right before he pressed a long kiss to it. “Yeah, fuck me, right, Griffin?”

Thoughts were out of the question. All that she cared about was the feeling of pleasure building and building. Her mind was quickly short-circuiting from the nips of his teeth and the drag of his tongue and the snap of his hips.

The pace was steady. He panted against her neck as he thrust into her. Clarke’s leg tightened around his hips, urging him to go harder. Her head fell back to the tile and eyes fluttered shut.

“Clarke,” he breathed. His voice made the pleasure build. He sounded as wrecked as she did. 

She angled her hips by hiking her leg further around his waist, changing the angle of each thrust. Bellamy moaned from the change. His slack jaw and parted lips were enough to make electricity run up her spine and curl her toes. 

With her arms outstretched, she searched for anything to grasp onto. Her fingers curled uselessly against the slick tile when Bellamy hiked her up mere inches, driving into her deeper. Her leg shook under her and  _ fuck,  _ she needed something to grasp.

“Bellamy,” she cried, unable to say anything else.

“Louder.”

It was easy to oblige.  _ “Bellamy.” _

She found purchase on his broad shoulders, her nails digging into the skin on his back as he continuously drove into the same spot, over and over. Each one of his thrusts pushed her further into the wall and further towards the edge.

He swore under his breath and pressed his nose to her temple. 

Clarke desperately wanted this to last — she wanted to remain balanced on the edge of this knife, chasing pleasure but never truly reaching relief — but it was too good. It was always too good with Bellamy. 

His fingers clenched. His movements were growing ragged and uncoordinated as they both rapidly climbed towards release. She tugged his hair and they met in the middle for a messy kiss, built with bumping teeth and tugging lips.

Relief crashed through them in succession, one after the other. 

Clarke’s body shuddered as the warmth coiling in her core burst, as the fire in her veins was quenched, as the pleasure ran through her. Her body arched into his as he gave a few final thrusts, tearing low moans from both of them. Then, he came as he called her name, pushing into her a final time.

They clung to each other for a long moment, both panting and flushed and stated. Clarke dusted kisses on every square inch of him she could reach. She could feel his pounding heart against her chest, feel the race of his pulse under her lips, feel the ghost of his breath against the crown of her head.

_ Bliss. _

Being wrapped up so intimately with Bellamy was simply that — bliss. She couldn’t imagine anyone else in the world that she’d ever feel this content with, this safe with, this  _ at home  _ with.

When he pulled out of her, she slowly slid down from the wall, a laugh leaving her lips breathlessly. Bellamy glanced down at her, a goofy grin on his face and she knew he felt the same ease she did in that moment. He looked absolutely wrecked  _ but so unbelievably happy  _ that it made a different type of warmth spill down to her toes.

Her thumb ran across his jaw as she cupped his face and tilted her head forward to steal a slow and deep kiss. His hands that ran up the curve of her back and brushed across her sides weren’t filled with any more care and love than they were moments before — the touches were simply softer, more tender, slower. She melted into him.

When they pulled away from the kiss, Clarke let out a choked laugh. “Yeah. You suck at being subtle.”

“Shit. You think the Quidditch Captain knows?”

“She knows.” Another slow kiss. “Good thing she sucks at being subtle, too. She loves you just as much.”

Bellamy grinned down at her.

By the time they left the shower, their fingers were pruned and the water was turning cold. 

* * *

“I’m never going to get this.”

Clarke bit her lip to hide her smile. It wasn’t too long ago that the roles were reversed; she was the one about to pull her hair out with frustration and Bellamy was the one trying to teach her.

“It takes practice,” she assured him. “But you’re almost there. It’s getting harder for me to break your shields.”

Bellamy was clearly exhausted. While it had been  _ weeks  _ since they started working on his Occlumency technique, he was struggling to get past the first stages. Clarke knew it was advanced magic and had taken her years to hone, but he was slowly losing patience.

“It’s fine,” she told him. “We can take a break and—”

“If Murphy picked this up in one day, I can pick it up in a few weeks.” 

Bellamy glared across the room, where Murphy was lounging on the sofa. He gave him a thumbs up without glancing up from his notes.

“Yeah, well, Murphy had the threat of death to encourage him to pick this up quickly,” Clarke said. “We aren’t exactly motivated by anything.”

After all, the war was over. While the world wasn’t what it used to be — she doubted it would ever get back to that — it was getting there. 

Clarke thought back to Diyoza’s house, when it was her and Murphy up until the sun rose, with Muggle pens blistering their hands and stacks of paper between them, and how  _ terrifying  _ and  _ exhilarating  _ and  _ good  _ it felt to write down everything she knew about Voldemort’s side. It was that same information that was being used now by Kingsley and other Aurors to find Voldemort’s forces in hiding. And, with the Slytherins that defected providing knowledge, more and more Death Eaters were getting apprehended each day.

Clarke knew it would take a lot more time for her to feel safe in the Wizarding World — it was the same for all of them. But knowing that the war was over and there were less Death Eaters out there to hunt her down eased some of the rush to develop additional magical skills.

“Raven did it,” Bellamy complained.

“Raven’s also a genius,” Murphy replied. Bellamy flipped him off. “Hey! Are you going to tell me that I’m  _ wrong?  _ She’s  _ from  _ the house of  _ smart people!” _

“Riiiiight. And I’m from the house of brave people and you’re from the house of traitorous snakes,” Bellamy commented dryly. Clarke stuck her tongue out. He pouted. “Aw, I don’t mean it that way, love.”

Murphy retched. “Alright, love birds. Either you stop making kissy-faces over there or I’m going to go bother Raven at work.”

“Raven would  _ very seriously  _ consider stunning you if you interrupted her during this interview,” Clarke pointed out. She teasingly scooted a few inches away from Bellamy. “Here, better?”

“Much. Don’t forget to leave room for Merlin between you two.” He set down his notes and picked up his wand from the table. Clarke didn’t like the expression on his face. He was in a shit-stirring mood. “How’s it feel, Blake? You’re finally the one that can’t get the hang of a spell!”

“Let me remind you that it took us  _ months  _ to do a Patronus Charm,” Clarke said. “And that was with the threat of Dementors in our faces.” She glanced at Bellamy, a wave of protectiveness making her chest tighten. “Hopefully Bellamy will never need this skill.”

_ There had been a lot of hope recently. _

Even though she hoped with everything in her that Bellamy wouldn’t ever need to fight against Legilimency, she wasn’t going to let him walk around defenceless like she had in the war.

Even though the war was over and they had hopes of it never happening again, they’d, as a family, organized a plan of what to do if the small bands of Death Eater resistance turned into something that resembled the last war.

Even though Slytherins were still looked at cautiously, she was hopeful this would change with McGonagall removing some of the separation between houses in her new role as Headmistress of Hogwarts.

She had hope. 

They all did.

“Speaking of Patronuses, I heard from a little bird that yours is  _ very  _ adorable,” Bellamy told Murphy. His lips twitched as he tried to fight a smirk. “Godric, and you get on  _ us  _ for being whipped.”

Murphy lifted his eyebrows in challenge. “Yeah, well, my Patronus being a raven is more inconspicuous than you two. You’re all cuddly and shit. Disgusting.”

“You’re such a worm.” Clarke’s nose wrinkled. “Like I didn’t just walk in on you and Raven  _ last week.  _ In my own house!”

“Your ‘house’ is the size of Hogwarts, Griffin. You should’ve knocked before—”

“I don’t want details,” Bellamy said. “I don’t need the mental image of your bare ass, Murphy.”

“Oh? Mental image? Do you want the real image because I could very easily—” Both Bellamy and Clarke’s pillows hit him square in the face. He fell silent and sat back down on the couch, a wide smile stretching his lips. A few seconds passed before he spoke again. “Did Raven really call my Patronus adorable? Because I always saw it as a ferocious sort of animal. Raven’s are deadly. Right? They’re predators.”

“Face it, John, you  _ wish  _ your Patronus is as cool as mine.” 

“Wolves are overrated, Clarke. Mine is more subtle and strikes fear into the hearts of my enemies.”

Clarke twirled her wand and lifted her eyebrows. “Come on, then. Let’s see your raven beside my wolf. We’ll see which one is more terrifying that way.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Murphy’s raven burst to life between them, circling high above their heads. “Bring it, Griffin.”

She snorted, but went through the motions of bringing her wolf Patronus to life. She gripped her wand, concentrating on the warmth of the wood and relishing in the buzz of magic just below the skin. A happy memory easily surfaced.

She thought of her and Bellamy flying the gardens of Griffin Manor a few weeks after the battle — the air was humid after one of the first rains of spring, the air was fragrant with blooming flowers, the wind whipped through her hair, and she felt  _ free.  _ With him at her side laughing and the feeling of being in control of her own life and the warmth that came with the high sun, she felt  _ good.  _

It took more concentration than before for the mist to form in front of her. It had been months since she practiced this charm; she hadn’t needed it after the battle had finished and the threats were gone. And, while she hated to admit it, she also struggled to connect to her new wand, which made these advanced charms all the more difficult. It was why she found herself using more and more wandless magic.

Her Patronus burst to life in front of her, instantly chasing after Murphy’s raven. The two animals circled each other several times before Clarke changed the angle of her wand, sending the wolf sprinting in Murphy’s direction. He let out a sharp laugh as soon as the wolf got too close. His Patronus vanished as he lost concentration.

“You’re cheating!” he complained.

“Oh, yeah, Bellamy knows  _ all  _ about my cheating habits. He claims I’m unfair to play Quidditch against. Isn’t that right, Bell?” She turned to him, a wide smile on her face — a smile that quickly faltered when she saw his ghostly expression. “Hey. You okay?” 

Thinking that maybe the sight of the Patronus was bringing him back to the battle, she moved to extinguish it.

“No,” he said quickly, his hand darting out to stop her wand movements. He swallowed thickly and made eye contact with her. “No, don’t stop.”

He lifted his wand and mumbled the incantation, and, once again, there were two Patronuses running through the room. Clarke’s shoulders relaxed with relief and moved her wolf to circle his Labrador Retriever—

_ It wasn’t a Labrador Retriever. _

Her breathing hitched when she caught sight of exactly what his Patronus was. It was a slightly larger and a darker replica of her wolf.

_ His Patronus was a wolf. _

Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes wide and lips parted. She sputtered in an attempt to form words, but the simple task was impossible through the shock. His wolf remained, even after hers disappeared.

“Wow,” Murphy commented dryly, “the two soulmates have the same Patronus. Didn’t see that coming.”

_ That  _ managed to break Clarke from her shock.

“What!? How? When?”

Bellamy’s wolf swooped towards her, a goofy grin on his lips. She felt a burst of warmth as the animal brushed against her.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I noticed it changed during the battle, but I didn’t know  _ what  _ it changed to — not until I saw yours.”

“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, check?” Murphy pressed.

“No. We kind of had more important things going on.” 

_ Like rebuilding Hogwarts, and providing testimonies against her mother, and attending too many funerals, and mourning too many friends, and— _

“Good point.”

Clarke turned towards the wolf at her side, allowing herself to examine the animal more closely. It was  _ so  _ similar to hers, yet  _ so  _ different at the same time. It wasn’t an identical match to her Patronus — more like the second half of a whole or a complementary pair.

She didn’t miss the symbolism in this. Before she met him, she had been alone and she’d been hurt and she never thought she’d find friendship, or a family, or a home, or  _ love.  _

She had been a lone wolf. 

And now — now, she  _ had those things,  _ and it was  _ so fucking beautiful _ — she wasn’t alone anymore.

_ She found her pack. _

Her heart swelled and it felt like her soul shifted yet again.

“Well, what changed since the last time you cast it?” Murphy asked, his voice losing some of the sarcasm from earlier. His gaze was locked on the animal. “Back at Diyoza’s, it was a dog. Now, it’s… not.”

Both her and Bellamy looked at each other again. His concentration on the charm wavered and the Patronus dissolved. She was too preoccupied with her thoughts to truly miss the warmth from the charm.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a beat.

“Don’t Patronus Charms change after people fall in love? Isn’t that what happens? Or is that some bullshit Pureblood fairy tale told to us to make us believe in true love and shit?” Murphy pressed.

Bellamy’s gaze snapped to his. “If you’re implying that I didn’t love Clarke back at Diyoza’s—”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Salazar, I wasn’t implying  _ that.  _ I’m just  _ saying.” _

Clarke reached for Bellamy — a movement that he met halfway with his own hand. 

“A lot changed between now and the last time we practiced at Diyoza’s,” she said. 

She thought of all the months that passed, and all the nights she spent lying awake thinking of him, and the absolute joy that would sweep through her whenever she’d hear him on Potterwatch. 

She thought of how Bellamy mourned her death while they were apart, and clung desperately to hope that she was still alive, and worried for her, and wondered about her fate, and—

“We had to learn to live without each other,” she continued, her throat tightening. “We both thought the other was dead or dying. That  _ changes  _ a person.” A beat, then, “besides, I doubt we’ll ever really know. Magic is too unpredictable to ever figure it out completely.”

Still, she was happy with her answer. Bellamy was happy with it too. After all, they knew exactly how impactful losing the other had been. Neither of them could deny that things had changed while they were apart.

Murphy, however, mumbled something under his breath and picked his book back up. “I’m asking Raven when she’s home. She’ll know. She’s from the  _ smart person  _ house.”

Clarke couldn’t help but laugh.

* * *

One night in late June, Murphy had news.

It was the four of them spread across two couches in the smallest sitting room of Griffin Manor. Even though it was the smallest sitting room in the house, there was  _ way  _ too much empty space as they crowded around the corner fireplace. The whole room felt so lonely. Clarke didn’t want to think about the rest of the house, with dozens of bedrooms covered in white tarps and countless sitting rooms sitting unused.

Clarke looked up from a Muggle novel Bellamy loaned her to glance at her friends. Murphy was starfished on the ground, a single pillow under his head as he stared up at the high ceilings. Raven had a Muggle pen between her lips as she worked away on editing her most recent article for the  _ Prophet.  _ She was tucked under Bellamy’s arm, who was reading the book over her shoulder, completely enthralled by the tales of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.

Her mother would’ve died on the spot if she saw them.  _ Nothing  _ of what they were doing could’ve been considered proper in traditional wizarding society; they were using Muggle items, wearing Muggle clothes, lounging around in a room meant for formal gatherings, all perfectly happy and content despite all the differences between them.

_ Well.  _ Almost all of them were content.

Something was on Murphy’s mind.

She knew him well enough by now to recognize his expression; he was worried and distracted. His eyes weren’t vacant — more like haunted. Clarke didn’t want to pry and make him share whatever was bothering him, but she couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t worried. 

He must’ve sensed her eyes on him. His head rolled to the side and they locked eyes. Clarke cocked an eyebrow. His lips pushed together. She tilted her head to the side in question. Murphy pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me.”

“I’m just looking.”

“Well, stop.”

Raven snorted. “Merlin, how did you two survive alone for so many weeks?” She poked Murphy’s side with her toe. “Quit it.”

Murphy frowned. “Listen, Griffin started it.”

“I’m just staring at you.”

“Yeah, and it’s really fucking annoying.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against Raven’s knees behind him. She ran a hand through his hair, removing some tension from his shoulders. After a beat, he sighed. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Is it to do with what Kingsley wanted to talk to you about?” Bellamy pressed. Murphy didn’t react right away, which confirmed Clarke’s suspicions. It was exactly what Bellamy said; whatever was bothering Murphy was what he talked about with Kingsley earlier that day. “Listen, Murph, you don’t have to worry about our reactions. I’m pretty sure we’ve faced worse than whatever he told you.” Bellamy glanced at her, something flashing in his eyes. “Whatever it is, we’d get through it together.”

_ Together.  _ That had become something so much bigger than she ever thought it would. It was a promise she made with Bellamy all those months ago. It felt like a lifetime.

“That’s not it,” Murphy snapped. He pressed his hands to his eyes. “I’m just… You’re going to think I’m insane. Or under the Imperius. Or  _ something,  _ I don’t fucking know.” Before any of them could comment, he straightened, his expression hidden behind a mask. “Just… hear me out, alright?”

A dozen thoughts ran through Clarke’s mind in that moment. The loudest one was that he was going to tell them he was moving out of Griffin Manor. Clarke had a feeling this had been coming; Octavia left a few weeks back, as soon as the direct aftermath of the battle was over, needing her own space to cope with everything. Even though the remaining four all lived together for months at Diyoza’s, it made sense that Murphy might want his own space now. 

She didn’t have to wonder long.

Murphy locked eyes with her. “Diyoza left me the safe house.”

_ That sucked the air from the room.  _

Suddenly, Clarke wasn’t looking at Murphy on the ground — she was looking at the man bent over their mentor, his cheeks streaked with tears and nose running and anguish ripping him apart. She was looking at the same man at the front of the funeral, who spoke of her guidance and her compassion and her strength — he spoke about how she was the reason he found his place in the world, how she was the reason he was able to tell north from south, how she helped guide him towards the light when he felt suffocated in the dark. She was looking at a man grieving the passing of his mentor.

Clarke swallowed thickly. Bellamy stiffened beside her.

“Kingsley got to Diyoza’s will today. She left our house to me. Said that it was mine.” His lips pressed together. “Heh. Guess she knew my father wiping me from the Murphy Family would leave me without a home after the war. Guess she knew her house was more of a home to me than my father’s.”

Raven’s hand rested on his shoulder in silent comfort. Clarke didn’t know whether she should celebrate the news or grieve. It was a stark reminder that Diyoza was gone —  _ really, truly gone —  _ but it was also a reminder that she loved them —  _ really, truly loved them  _ — like they were her own family.

“Are you happy?” Bellamy prompted.

“I think. I don’t know.” Murphy scrubbed his face tiredly. “That’s not what I wanted to tell you though. Or, it is. But. Fuck. Diyoza left the house to me to do whatever I wanted with it. Well, I know what I want to do.” He shifted nervously. “I want to continue what Diyoza started.”

Clarke shifted forward. “And what exactly is that?”

“She took in people who needed a home during the war. She gave people the opportunity to grow and change and learn. She helped guide people who would’ve been lost without her. Hell, without her, I would’ve been lost. Without that safe house, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.” The more he talked, the more confident he grew. “I want to do that. Or, try. I don’t know. We all know I’d be shit at it, but—  _ I don’t know why this is so hard to say, fuck.”  _ He blew out a long breath. 

“There’s a lot of kids out there that don’t have anywhere to go because of this war. Hogwarts doesn’t know what to do with them; every student has to be out during the holidays because the castle closes, but that leaves these kids without families with nowhere to go. The Ministry doesn’t know what to do with them either. At best, they’ll send them to distant relatives, or shove them into unfit homes, or  _ whatever.  _ I don’t know.

“I do know that people are going to need a home. I know that, if Diyoza— if she lived, she would’ve opened up the safe house to those who needed it. I want to do that too.” He bounced his leg nervously. 

“It’s a horrible idea. I know. I’m terrible with kids. I scare kids, actually. They’ve never really been fans of my face and my charming attitude, I guess. But…  _ this is needed.  _ And I want to do it — against better judgement. That’s where I’m hoping you three will come in. I’m in over my head with this idea. I can’t do this project alone — not well, anyways. I know we discussed that none of us really know what we’re supposed to do with the rest of our lives, so I thought—”

“Yes.” Bellamy cut Murphy off before he could even finish speaking. “I’m in. That’s a good idea.”

“You already know I’m in,” Raven agreed. “Diyoza would be really proud of you, Murphy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far yet. It’s just an  _ idea.  _ There’s still a shit ton of actual work to do. Did I mention I’m horrible with children? Because I’m horrible with children.”

“Bellamy’s not,” Raven assured him. “Right, Bellamy? Tell him how you raised your sister and adopted every kid you saw in the halls that looked a little lost. If there was a lost kid in the general vicinity of Bellamy, he’d find them and send them on their way with directions and a jelly bean.”

Murphy furrowed his brow. “What’s a jelly bean?”

“Doesn’t matter. The point is, Bellamy is good with kids. It’s a good idea and we’re all willing to help. It’ll be—”

“Wait,” Clarke said slowly, pushing herself to the edge of the couch. All eyes turned to her. “Just hold on a second.”

Raven lifted her eyebrows. “Alright. Maybe I spoke too soon.”

Murphy’s expression had shifted quickly once again; switching from one of excitement and hope to emptiness. “Fuck. Maybe it is a bad idea.”

Clarke’s stomach twisted. “It’s not that,” she assured quickly. “It’s a really good idea, Murphy. Raven’s right; Diyoza would be really proud of you. I just… The safe house is gone.” 

She thought back to the last time she saw it. It had been the night Death Eaters attacked them. Fire licked across the walls, glass littered the floor, the ceiling cracked as the beams were pulled down.

Gone was a mild way to put it. The house was destroyed.

Murphy locked his jaw. “Then we rebuild. It isn’t impossible. We’ve done it before — look at Hogwarts. The castle is standing upright because of magic. We can do it with Diyoza’s and—”

“—and the house is small. It fit five adults — barely. If one of us stayed with them, that’s four kids total.”

“That’s four more kids protected and safe than before.”

“I know, but—”

“Just say it’s a bad idea, Griffin, and get it over with.”

“It’s  _ not  _ a bad idea. It’s great. Just— I’m trying to tell you to take Griffin Manor.”

_ That  _ stunned Murphy into silence.

Clarke blew out a long breath and tried again. “I’m offering Griffin Manor to you — for this project.” She struggled to capture her thoughts with words. “This place… It’s never been my home. I grew up here, but I don’t look at it and think of fond memories. The only fond memories I have in this place are the ones I made over the last month. I don’t  _ want  _ this place to be my home — not like this — not when there’s still so much darkness in it. 

“And you’re right — you’re absolutely right. Hogwarts doesn’t take care of children without families. The Ministry sure as hell doesn’t — how could it, when it can barely function without combusting right now? There are more rooms in the manor than I can remember; most of them untouched in months.  _ That’s a lot of kids —  _ a lot more than four.” 

For the first time in a long time, she could picture something for the house she grew up in — a future that didn’t make her skin crawl and didn’t fill her with hesitation.

It was almost a perfect fate, she decided. A house that had been filled with so much darkness for so long could be repurposed to give back some light. A house that used to stand for blood purity and prejudice would be filled with Muggleborns and half-bloods and purebloods, all living together and coexisting.

It would make her mother die.

_ It was perfect. _

Murphy stared at Clarke for a long moment before his face split into a large grin. He let out a bark of laughter and fell back onto the couch. “Salazar, we really are our families’ worst nightmares, aren’t we?”

“They’re turning in their graves right now.”

“Thank fuck.” He blew out a long breath. “Are we doing this? Are we really going to do this?”

It wasn’t a hard question to answer.

* * *

Murphy had been right; Diyoza’s house was easy to rebuild with a little bit of magic.

While they’d never be able to capture the exact texture of the brick, or recreate the splatter of burnt food on the ceiling in the kitchen, or replicate the specific scent of the house, Diyoza’s safe house was standing once again.

Clarke stowed her wand in her cloak pocket and ran her fingers across the mirror of the bathroom, admiring her handiwork. It was the last fracture in the bathroom she had been tasked to mend and it looked good.

Time didn’t feel as solid as she once thought it was in that moment. It had been months since they took shelter at Diyoza’s. How could a period of her life feel like it was so much further in the past than it was, yet feel like it was just yesterday at the same time?

She didn’t flinch as the bathroom door was pushed open. Her gaze flicked up in the mirror, locking with the familiar eyes of Bellamy. An easy smile spread her lips.

“Hey.”

Bellamy slipped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. “I thought I’d find you here.” He examined the room. “You did a good job. It looks good in here.” He snorted when he noticed the empty pot on the vanity. “Merlin, you even fixed that.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the memories of the potted plant. The first time she told him she loved him, she knocked that same plant to the ground and fell into the sink. The memory made her stomach flip and her heart race. That day was one of her favourite memories.

Bellamy wrapped his arms around her waist and settled his chin on her shoulder, pressing her back flush against his chest. Clarke melted into his embrace and allowed the tension to drain from her. 

_ Home. _

Between Diyoza’s being pieced back together and Bellamy’s body curled around hers, she felt closer to home than she had felt in a really long time.

“I can’t believe we’re back here,” he mumbled, his eyes never pulling from her reflection in the mirror. “In some ways, it feels like we never left.”

And, yet, their whole world had changed.

The war was over.

For the first time, they were free; they could do whatever they wanted. There were so many possibilities that it was almost overwhelming. It was something Clarke had never been afforded — neither had Bellamy.

_ A future of their choice. _

They didn’t have to run and hide anymore. They didn’t have to sit in a safe house, waiting for a day they could live their lives. The threat of war didn’t loom over them — the threat of death and battles and losing loved ones were in the past.

While the scars they gained from the war weren’t gone, they were just that—

_ Scars. _

They were healing. They were building towards a better future — a brighter future. Instead of waiting for the war to boil to an end, they could actively seek their futures.

Clarke wasn’t too sure what her future held just yet — all she knew was that she wanted Bellamy in it. 

Bellamy laughed against her skin when he pressed a kiss to her neck. Clarke couldn’t help but smile in return. “How do we always end up here?”

“End up where?”

“In bathrooms.” Bellamy pressed another quick kiss to her shoulder before straightening. She immediately missed his lips on her skin. “I feel like all our important life decisions are made in bathrooms.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Clarke thought back to Kane’s bathroom and the first time they attempted a conversation without attempting murder at the same time. While they were still hostile towards each other, their shared moment in the bathroom brought them closer together — in more ways than just one. It was the first time she extended an olive branch to him and the first time she truly placed trust in his hands by allowing him to heal the wound on her bicep. It was also the first time that he made her mind swim and her heart race.

Then there was the first night they arrived at Diyoza’s, when they were filled with hurt and anger and betrayal. Despite the heartbreak and the confusion, Clarke still remembered how tender his fingers were as they brushed along her skin. And, despite that period of their relationship making Clarke’s stomach twist, that had been an important moment for them. It forced her to grow in ways she wasn’t expecting, just as it forced her to examine their relationship.

There were sweeter memories, too, like stolen kisses, and shared whispers, and desperate reunions.

“I guess bathrooms are our thing.” 

“Do you remember how horribly obvious I made it that I wanted to talk to you in the bathroom that one morning, yet you  _ still  _ didn’t catch my hints? I claimed to have syrup over my hands and we ended up destroying half the bathroom in an attempt to hook up.”

Clarke laughed and turned in his grasp to face him. “Yeah, I remember. I’m fairly sure Murphy remembers too. He claims to have that horrible image seared into his brain.”

When their lips met, she hummed in contentment and relished in the blissfulness that washed over her. The kiss was brief, but still managed to steal her breath and make her stomach fill with butterflies.

“I guess it’s only fitting for one more important moment to happen in here.”

Clarke snorted, but didn’t pull her forehead from his, still too content to move. “Mhm, sure.”

“I promised that I would ask you something once the war was over.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, giving away his nerves. She pulled back from the embrace the slightest bit, suddenly worried for him. “And… the war is over now.”

“It is.”

“Clarke,” he breathed, the seriousness of his voice making her stomach swoop. Her heart skipped a beat as she took in the intensity of his eyes.  _ “Clarke,”  _ he said again, his voice filled with so much tenderness. “I told you that, after the war is over, I was going to ask you something.” That conversation was one she thought back to often. “The war is done, so I have something to ask you.” 

It was impossible not to smile at that. “Do you?”

“I do.” He swallowed thickly. “Will you marry me?”

Once again, it wasn’t a hard question to answer.

* * *

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, I’m a softie, so let me do one biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig and final thank you to you for reading this fic until the end! I appreciated all the love. If you’ve left comments, or kudos, or bookmarked, or subscribed, or shared this fic, know that you have my gratitude. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, I have a few other Bellarke fics on my AO3 profile, including my OTHER precious monster fic called [ Simple Pleasures ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15686817/chapters/36448347) (a Huger Games crossover that totals over 350k words). 
> 
> Also, please check out this really cool art of [Slytherin Clarke in Paint me in Trust](https://twitter.com/lizbroo/status/1258084085991460865) by [@lizbroo](https://twitter.com/lizbroo) on Twitter!
>
>> On a similar note, if you ever make any fanart or fan content inspired by Paint me in Trust, PLEASE reach out to me so we can squeal together and so I can link it to the first chapter.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. Stay safe out there!
> 
> Paw  
> Find me on [ Tumblr](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/pawprinter1)!


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